Finding Parental Care
by Melethril
Summary: AU canon until preHBP ; sixth year: Sequel to "Loss of Parental Care"; Harry knows: "Sometimes life is good." Anyway, though not seeking trouble, trouble has a way finding him. DISCONTINUED
1. Another year begins

Hallo, everybody!

So, this is the actual story "Finding Parental Care". It's a good idea to read the Prequel "Loss of Parental Care" before, although it's not necessary.

First of all I need to apologize, it took a while but I first wanted to have a concept for the story: It will have more or less 38 chapters and will be about Harry's entire sixth year.

I would also like to thank the reviewers that commented the Prequel. They made me happy:-)

As I already wrote in the summary, it is canon until the end of the fifth book but summer and the years following are AU.

Some bits and pieces will be taken from the last two books, but there will be changes. You'll catch up, I'm sure. If you have questions, please ask them!

I don't want to tell too much, but the following is important: There will be no Horcruxes (it's a great idea, but limiting) and the new DADA teacher isn't Snape. He's still Potions Professor. Lucius Malfoys wasn't part of the whole thing at the Ministry and therefore wasn't detected a Death Eater.

Everything else as for what happened during the summer, DADA teacher and so on will be explained in later chapters.

This will **NOT** be a slash-fic.

Story takes place immediately after Snape and Harry ran into each other.

By the way: Do you want Carola Zantura to have an appearance? I didn't mean to include her permanently; however I am open to suggestions. She could have occasional appearances if you want to.

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Disclaimer: This is fanfiction: I'm a fan and this is fiction. I have never, do not and will never own anything concerning Harry Potter and that amazing world J.K. Rolling created for us. Characters that do not belong to the Harry-Potter-world are entirely fictional and all resemblance to real people is unintended.

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**Finding Parental Care**

**Chapter 1: Another year begins**

Professor Severus Snape, the Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry couldn't help but feel irritated.

When Miss Zantura had passed him, to be exact, when she nearly ran into him turning swiftly around the corner, he had been annoyed at first but then instantly worried when he had seen her wet cheeks and red eyes, hearing her sniffling. Before he could do or say anything, however, she was already out of sight walking quickly towards the dungeons.

Severus Snape was known to be a cold-hearted man, but his Slytherins were under his protection, a responsibility he took very seriously. So naturally, he had been determined to find the source of his student's pain. Then he had seen Potter, when one was not looking directly into the brat's face one could have confused him with his father, and everything was clear to him. He had even seen the boy's cheeky grin from the side and fury had coursed through him. Like father, like son!

It was to be expected.

The one-sided conversation the Golden Boy had held with him on the other hand wasn't. That was the reason for his irritation. How dare the boy talking to him like this? How dare he? He was tempted to take points, but as unfair he was known to be towards the other houses, especially Gryffindor, since he couldn't recall the exact sentence that had irritated him, couldn't even tell in what way the boy had insulted him to make him so angry, he decided not to take points. With long strides he walked towards the staff room, his robes billowing. His annoyance must have been evident since almost all life of Hogwarts seemed to avoid him and those that couldn't did exactly that as soon as possible, for example the Fat Friar and Nearly-Headless Nick who had floated across the corridors but the moment they saw him, had turned right back into the wall they had just come from.

What bothered him the most was Potter's behaviour in class. No, actually it was the fact, he was in class at all. Harry Potter wasn't supposed to be able to attend his NEWT class. He had checked the grades himself, something he normally didn't do, when he had heard of the brat's Outstanding in his OWL's. Somehow the boy must have managed to cheat, although that would take a wizard far more powerful than the Boy-who-lived, but he must have cheated, the Potions Master didn't exactly know how, but Potter somehow had managed to overcome the rules, since that was his greatest ability.

When he had finally come to terms with the Potter Boy in his NEWT class, a class he usually enjoyed and that seemed now spoiled for the next two years, he almost started to look forward to them. Maybe, the brat had managed Potions in regular class, but Snape only took O-students for a reason. He'd make the boy so miserable until he'd see the uselessness of his actions and quit the class.

However, he was mistaken again: Obviously the brat had studied hard over the summer for all of his questions had been answered swiftly and with confidence except for the one that not even Miss Granger had known since it required experience for the correct answer. Of course, he had ridiculed him anyway, but the Golden Boy didn't react, didn't even glare at him or gave him a cheeky retort. To be honest, the boy had been surprisingly respectful.

He hadn't had the opportunity yet to talk to the rest of the teachers about that issue or lack of it. He'd do it as soon as possible.

With that thought he arrived at the door to the staff room and opened it. In there were already Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, Pomona Sprout and Albus Dumbledore.

"Severus, how nice of you to join us! Please, be seated."

"Thank you, headmaster," the Potions Professor said giving a quick nod with his head. Around others he was always very formal around the man whom he owned so much. With a swift, elegant movement he drew his wand at the same time as he took out of his left pocket a stock of paper that was spelled so small, it fit into his palm. He laid it on the staff table and silently cast the counter to the shrinking spell, a second later the pile of parchment had his original size. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows a little. "I will not remain here for long, Headmaster. I only came here to deliver the paper work you asked me for."

"Thank you, Severus. I will not hold you for long. However, I think you have time to join us for a cup of tea," knowing the young man would never accept the offer, Dumbledore made it deliberately an order. Reluctantly the black-cloaked man nodded and sat down in his favourite chair. With a flick of his wand, Snape conjured himself a cup and thanked Minerva McGonagall for pouring some tea into it.

As soon as he was served, the teachers resumed the conversation they had held before he had entered the room for they knew the intelligent Head of Slytherin would catch up within seconds. And he did. It was about the first lessons this week, to be exact about the year that had been on his mind as well for it contained a certain Boy-who-lived. Since in sixth year the subject that contained "silly wand-waving" were supposed to teach nonverbal spells, it was always interesting for Snape to hear how the students were doing, especially his Slytherins. So he listened quietly to Flitwick and the Deputy Headmistress.

"It still puzzles me that the students think, we cannot hear them whispering the spells," Minerva McGonagall said with an amused smile, the very short Charms Teacher laughed, "Yes that astonishes me as well. However, the level of this year's NEWT's is remarkably high."

The Transfiguration teacher nodded in agreement.

"High?" Snape sneered, "I see that Longbottom must be missing in your NEWT's as well, Filius." The rest of the staff looked at him disapprovingly, not the first time hearing scathing comments about the clumsy boy who wasn't as shy anymore as he once had been.

"For your information, Severus," the Head of Gryffindor looked at him very sternly reminding the Slytherin of a lioness ready to defend her cubs to death, an impression that was not that far off, "Mr. Longbottom did have reasonably good grades, although not having been able to attend my Transfiguration or your Potions class, he is best in his year in Herbology and is doing very well in Charms and Defence Against The Dark Arts. And even if his academic successes weren't as good as they are; one would assume that you'd have come to respect him or at least stop insulting him after what happened at the Ministry of Magic last summer."

"You mean when Potter nearly managed to kill all of his friends for an idiotic stunt." The effect was immediate. Said boy's Head of House stood up, her eyes blazing with anger. Before she could say anything, Dumbledore stood in between the two motioned her to sit down again. With a disapproving look he warned Snape who looked back indifferently still seated.

He and Minerva McGonagall got along very well. One could call them close colleagues or even friends that enjoyed having intelligent conversations and occasional banters. When it came to Potter and his friends, however, more than once out of discussions became disputes. Yet today's reaction was strong and it showed Snape that this was a topic that shouldn't be mentioned unless he wanted to start a fight.

Dumbledore led the conversation in another direction without changing the topic completely: "Harry is now taking your class, isn't he, Minerva?"

She complied but she was still angry, he could tell: "Yes, he is. Currently he is attending Transfiguration, Defence, Herbology, Charms and Potions." Potions had a derisive edge to it, causing Snape to raise he eyebrows. "So the Golden Boy wants to become an auror?" His tone was icy and mocking at the same time. Before the Deputy Headmistress could return, Dumbledore broke off the argument: "A very reasonable career choice, as you very well know, Severus."

Oh, how many time he had already been reminded of Harry Potter's terrible fate. He could not listen do this anymore. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Dumbledore seemed to see right through him, causing the younger man to check his Occlumency shields and wonder for what seemed millionth time if the Headmaster had found another way but Legilimency to read his mind.

"How is he doing in class?" Although Dumbledore's question was directed at Professor McGonagall, his eyes didn't leave Snape's immediately.

"I hoped you would ask, Albus. He's doing extraordinarily well, he must have studied quite a lot during the summer for he's well prepared and answered even the more difficult questions with ease. Not that he would ever choose to voluntarily make a sound in class safe for spells. When he's directly spoken to, one can recognize he was everything but lazy this summer."

_That would be a first_, the Potions Professor thought without voicing it aloud since it had been his observation as well. He heard the confirming comments of the others, all saying how well Potter had done in his first lessons without displaying his knowledge openly. What she added surprised him: "He's a little more subdued than usual, not in a bad way, he still laughs along with his friends during the breaks and he eats normally, but although having been a very polite young man before, these days he seems to avoid every kind of direct conflict. He doesn't even answer to Mr. Malfoy's verbal assaults anymore as long as they are directed at him personally and not his friends. He behaves very maturely which isn't a surprise concerning whom he lost right before the holidays." Snape bit back the scathing comment reminding the Transfiguration teacher whose fault it was Black had appeared at the Ministry in the first place. _Well, I guess guilt does tend to cause maturity_," he had to admit.

Dumbledore looked at her thoughtfully, his blue eyes lost a little of their normal sparkle. He cleared his throat: "Speaking of Harry, I was thinking about that defence group the children had formed last year. I wonder if we could let them continue, frequently even, for example once a week. It will be under occasional supervision by a teacher, but since more than one Prefect is in the "DA", as they call it for short, I am tended to let them continue without constant surveillance by a teacher."

There was silence for a moment, Minerva's lips were a thin line, it was clear that this idea didn't have her approval: "I don't know, Albus. Potter isn't a teacher; he wouldn't know what to do if something went wrong. It was an extremely stupid and dangerous stunt they pulled last year. They could have terribly hurt since this is a Defence Club not some Cooking Class, never to mention they could have all been expelled by Dolores Umbridge."

"For once I agree completely with Minerva concerning Potter, Headmaster. His little rebellion was stupid, immature and you should never allow this _Club_" he spat the word, "to continue. I am astonished he even dared to ask you for that, his behaviour towards you at the end of the term and general manners throughout all year were outrageous."

"He did not ask me for anything, Severus," the younger man recognized the deep sorrow in his mentor's voice causing him to be even more furious with the spoilt brat, "I merely thought that since Harry and everybody that gets close to him is in constant danger they should learn to defend themselves. Besides, the lessons last year seemed to have improved the children's performances, no DA member had a grade in Defence against the Dark Arts below an E, although Harry was the only one with an Outstanding."

Minerva McGonagall looked at her old friend thoughtfully: "Well, you are right. I do not feel well, however, to leave them all by themselves. How about this: For the first few weeks, the lessons will be attended by one of us all the time, later, when it seems well-instructed and safe, a teacher checks on them at the beginning and end of each lesson. Since I am Head of House of most of the members, I will do this, unless I am preoccupied, then I will ask either Pomona, Filius or Severus."

"An excellent suggestion, Minerva! Is everybody in agreement with this?" Snape looked rather exasperated, but he said nothing only nodded very lightly.

"Speaking of Defence," Dumbledore said causing Snape to suppress a moan. After Miss Umbridge, the Potions Master refused to think of her as a Professor, had left the castle to the great relief of all inhabitants safe Mr. Filch, they had been one teacher short once again. As always he had applied for Defence Against The Dark Arts, not that he would prefer that subject in any way to Potions, but it pained him to watch the amount of incompetence that had walked in and out of the castle ever since he started here. Especially these days the children needed to be prepared. The headmaster must have thought the same when he organized the new Defence teacher, however Snape could have done without the solution: Alastor Moody, this time not a Death Eater in disguise, taught Defence these days. Except for some of his Slytherins the children took the news remarkably well. He could console the disappointed ones: Alastor Moody would most likely only teach until November, for not only was he needed for Order business – not as if Snape would tell this the children – but Dumbledore had been looking for a replacement, a specific person but not even the Deputy Headmistress had been informed who it was.

"As you all know, Alastor will stay here until the end of October, in a few hours I will know if the replacement is available."

"When are you going to present us that mysterious person, Albus?" Her tone made clear that Professor McGonagall was everything but amused by the secret-mongering of the headmaster.

"As soon as it is settled, Minerva." He said gently but firmly. "Do not fret however, if the desired person comes to Hogwarts it will be an asset to the staff." His tone was final, Snape took the opportunity to leave.

"If there is nothing else, headmaster, I am going back to my office."

Dumbledore sighed, he didn't like the fact the young man was alone so much, but since he had nothing more to say, he shook his head.

"Afternoon at 4 o'clock in my office, Severus. Then I will, hopefully, be able to tell you about the new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher," Snape nodded reluctantly knowing he wouldn't like whoever it was.

He wished the teachers a good morning and left the staff room.

Walking back to the dungeons he noticed that his irritation was gone only lingering as silent exasperation. The fact no distressed teenagers or troublesome poltergeists crossed his path were also quite helpful for his mood.

His mind wandered while he walked through the labyrinth that was the dungeons.

Harry Potter was no longer troubling him; his thoughts lingered on that mysterious Defence teacher whom the headmaster would talk about very soon. He dearly hoped that person would comply since Professor Dumbledore seemed to be very anxious about it. Snape was less concerned over the individual's acceptance than his competence.

'_It can't be worse than last year_', he thought exasperate. Last year had been his worst at Hogwarts, not only under constant surveillance by the toad, the dreadful Occlumency lessons with the brat, but what had exhausted him the most had been the occasional summons by the Dark Lord. He could barely suppress a shudder, when he thought of his first meeting with his former master the summer before. It had taken him hours, interrogations under the influence of Cruciatus, Legilimency and Veritaserum at once to convince the monster of his alliance, or better servitude. By now his rank was back in the Inner Circle which was good since it gave him lots of information but he hated every second of it. Besides, Voldemort's surprisingly high opinion of him did come with dangers: Bellatrix Lestrange did not trust him, not in the least. After the fiasco at the Ministry she was in disgrace, something she couldn't bare well and she was ready to do practically anything to regain her beloved master's favour.

It was ridiculous, really. He had the monster's favour and didn't want it. She craved for it but wasn't allowed to have it.

This summer had been hard, nearly everyday he had been summoned and the ordered potions always had to be ready, or else. He had even been forced to go to Dumbledore, telling him he wouldn't be able to hand in his lesson plans in time. The headmaster had been very worried that day since the Potions Master's hands had trembled lightly. The older man knew that when the stoic man acted like this, anybody else would have been on the ground crying. Snape of course had been allowed to take his time and given that the Dark Lord would only summon him on weekends or special occasions after the new term started, he'd had the opportunity to complete his paperwork in the first week.

He didn't know what to expect from the new term. The war had started; still the children came here to learn. It was difficult to keep a balance, on one hand not to close the students off of reality and on the other to provide them with a certain feeling of safety. It didn't help of course that every week word came out of new murders, sometimes even the casualties were related to one of the students.

He said the password for his chambers, went in and put up privacy wards. He sighed. It was very unlikely not to be summoned tonight since the Dark Lord was anxious to hear about Harry Potter. Every Death Eater with a child at Hogwarts had received the order to gain information about the brat, he of course had to comply, too.

At least the Ministry had come to terms with reality. The idiot Fudge had been sacked three weeks into the holidays, for him Laurence Skawn (_author note: as you can see: not canon__!_) gained the position. His opinion of the man was divided. He was a middle-aged man, rather tall, strongly built and a man of action. He had been head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and therefore knew how to organize in the middle of fiascos. He had also attended to the more tactical aspects of Auror training and did receive top grades at those tests. It wasn't as if the man lacked in intelligence, but the new minister made him feel uneasy. There was potential danger in the man's actions since he was known to judge rather harshly. Before his thought went too pessimistic, he left the chambers again walking towards his laboratory: Preparing potions always had calming effect on him.

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_Next Chapter: Harry's Summer_

TBC or leave it be?


	2. Harry's Summer

Hello!

Thank you very much for your reviews. Here's the next chapter. I hope you'll like it.

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**Chapter 2: Harry's Summer**

It had been a great morning. Harry couldn't really remember the last time he had felt as relaxed as he did at the moment. Ron and Hermione too enjoyed his cheerful side since its appearance had been limited only to their first meeting at the train station before school started again (he hadn't been allowed to leave Privet Drive until the beginning of the term and had been escorted by three Order Members to the Hogwarts train since everything else would have been too dangerous) and occasional laughter between classes. It was nice to see him so unaffected, almost childlike. Harry had to be a grown up far too many times, the little episode with Cara seemed to have had a rejuvenating effect on him. Ron was so grateful about it he nearly strode towards the most terrible place in Hogwarts - the dungeons - only to kiss Cara's cheek.

They arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady, said the password ("_Kneazle"_) and entered. Halfway through the portrait hole, Hermione froze:

"Oh, no! I forgot my schoolbag in the library," she said. Ron who had helped her through the entrance to the Gryffindor tower (and had blushed terribly when he had offered), said, "Oh, it's okay. I am going to get it." He turned around and went away without noticing he had left his best friend halfway tangling from the hole. Harry couldn't help but laugh a little, seeing the two circling around each other but not quite taking hold of each others attraction just yet, was amusing. This awkward interaction was better than the occasional old-married-couple-quarrels that did have a tiring effect on Harry. He helped Hermione through the portrait hole.

"Ron will definitely have to learn something about the whole gallantry thing," Harry said with a smile on his face. The curly-haired brunette blushed deeply, the colour of her cheeks now resembling the typical Weasley hair-colour.

"He only meant to help," she mumbled. Harry looked down at her, he had grown quite bit during the summer and although still being shorter than Ron he was taller than Hermione and even than some of the guys his age.

Suddenly she looked at Harry with a horrified look: "What is he thinking? He cannot get my schoolbag! I must go after him. I'll see you in a moment."

Harry had no idea what was in her bag but feeling her embarrassment it had to be something about Ron. He looked into the empty common room – most of the Gryffindors were outside enjoying the sun. The rest was already on their way for lunch and a few were still at breakfast. He breathed out with a sigh, his smile slowly leaving his face.

He didn't particularly like being alone, it brought back memories of his summer. That one had been his worst; although it wasn't as if he had been cut off from his friends. They actually had had very frequent contact, but it had been very lonely two months.

He remembered the first week as if it had been yesterday:

He had mourned deeply and missed _him_ so much Harry almost came accustomed to the terrible tightness in his chest that had even made it hard to breath. Guilt was literally eating him alive. Because of him his father's best friend had died, because of him Professor Lupin was the last of the Marauders (Pettigrew didn't count anymore), because of him… The first day back, he had locked himself into his bedroom. Aunt Petunia hadn't commented it, simply told him to remember preparing breakfast at seven and gave him a list of chores he had to complete the next day. After hours of brooding and mourning he realized, he didn't have the right to sit here doing nothing. He would make Sirius proud, he'd make amends and he knew the only way to achieve that was to never let a fiasco like at the Ministry of Magic ever happen again.

The next day he wrote several letters, one to "Flourish and Blotts" in order to receive as many books as he could for sixth year, then he wrote to Hermione asking for some books she recommended for additional reading as well as an extra-note to her for Advanced Defence books. He completed his chores rather quickly and spent the rest of the day reading his old notes and schoolbooks.

He studied and worked like this for one week additionally to the books he had received three days after having sent the letters. The manager of the bookshop had complied with enthusiasm and even added books that did not belong to the list (_You may send them back without paying for them, Mr. Potter. However, it is my impression you will find them most intriguing._) The books partly contained additional reading to class but most them were Advanced Defence books. The man obviously took the Daily Prophet very seriously (Harry didn't like that fact, but he was grateful for the man's obvious display of loyalties; However he hoped the man was able to conceal his opinion better when in Diagon Ally since everything else would probably lead to the manager's death.). He paid for all the books and gave Hedwig a note that included his thanks but with an unmistakable warning about the dangers his support involved. He would never let anybody die for him again.

After a week, the dreams started.

He knew those kinds of dreams he had had them before, but never like this: Every night, day after day, time and time again he was in Lord Voldemort's body spreading terror over the world. Every time he woke up in the middle of the night unable to sleep because of a gruesome headache that brought him to the brink of tears although never crying. Every day after it had begun, he started studying at three or four in the morning, made breakfast at seven, completed his chores as soon as he could only to go studying again. Since he made his chores, his aunt and uncle couldn't complain, but they were furious with him for studying ("_it is unnatural to study so much. Dudley never did so much for school."_). The only reason they left him alone was because they were afraid of the other "freaks".

He didn't understand at first why Voldemort seemed oblivious to his presence, however since also grasping the monster's thoughts he realized after a couple of days that he seemed to be practising Occlumency against Harry who couldn't very well tell his mortal enemy of his failing. Why the snake-like man failed however, Harry couldn't understand. He at first had considered writing to Dumbledore then he figured that even if owl post were completely safe, he had no right to contact his headmaster whom he respected so much although not having shown him at the end of term. He deserved every single headache he received, every sleepless night he had as a punishment for his laziness concerning Occlumency lessons.

It took another week for him to realize he wouldn't survive the summer sane if he didn't do anything. Actually the first time he thought he lost his mind was a brief interaction with Dudley on Tuesday. The obese boy had lost some weight over the year, was a lot more subdued and less demanding than the last time he'd seen him. Actually, this was the first week in the summer holiday Harry hadn't been forced to hide a frightened child in the garden or played decoy for them. That Tuesday however had been weird: It had been about 4 o'clock in the afternoon when Harry had heard a hesitant knock at his bedroom door.

"Come in," he had said looking up curiously. When he saw who entered, he raised his eyebrows: "How can I help you, Dudley?"

The other boy seemed shy and insecure, almost causing to bring out Harry's protective streak since it was rare to see the other teenager like this.

On moments such as this the young wizard became aware of the fact that he was far more mature than Dudley, always had been actually, but right now he felt like an adult watching a young child shuffling his feet.

"I… I wanted to…" He fell silent again. Normally Harry would have said something about his astonishment for Dudley actually bringing together coherent words for normal human speech, but he was simply too worn out and the other boy looked too timid to actually mock him.

"Yes?" Emerald green eyes met his cousin's who relaxed, obviously relieved about the lack of hostility.

"I just wanted to know… How was your school year?" Harry didn't even try to hide his shock when he looked at the only slightly older boy. At the same time the innocent question nearly made him cry.

"Long… Very long," Harry said thinking about Umbridge, the disastrous Occlumency lessons, the Blood Quill, his loss of Quidditch, the happenings at the Minis… Before thinking about that he cleared his throat.

"And yours?" When had his voice started to sound so sore?

"Okay," was the answer of the plump boy, "I lost some weight!" There was a hint of pride in his voice. Harry smiled saying he had noticed that.

"Look, the reason I am here. If there is anything I can do for you. Please, say so." With those words Dudley had disappeared again leaving his cousin confused.

He doubted his own sanity for a moment until he could convince himself it must have been real.

As were the dreams.

When he woke at midnight three nights later unable to even close his eyes again in fear to be a murderer again in his dreams, he realized he would have to occlude himself, nonetheless he knew that ordering Occlumency Books at Flourish and Blots was impossible since although the man's loyalties were clear, he couldn't count on the fact his order would arrive safely.

It was difficult to approach people as well. He couldn't go to Professor Lupin since he felt so guilty about Sirius' death and it seemed so selfish to be interested in Occlumency after what happened. Dumbledore was out of the question as well mainly because Harry was so terrible ashamed of his behaviour towards the man he loved like the grandfather he never had, there was no way he could ask for something like this without standing in front of the man and apologize for his manners first. And Snape… When hell froze over, maybe. Besides, there was simply no way the Potions Professor would ever help him.

He looked through Hermione's books and found "Mind's Magic". A note in the book explained that is was about nonverbal magic ('_very important next year_,' she had written), well, this was better than nothing. He started reading.

The next day after a terribly unsuccessful night he approached Dudley. He asked him to go to the library to get him some books about relaxation techniques and some Muggle psychology; his cousin had complied with enthusiasm, to Harry's great surprise. The young wizard himself avoided leaving the Dursley's property for two reasons: First, he would never be as stupid as last summer ever again, second being outside made him relax, he no right to do that.

When Dudley came back with the books, he simply laid them on Harry's bed and disappeared again even before said bed's owner could thank him.

He gripped his head in frustration. _Mind's Magic_ seemed to be a great book, but he simply couldn't understand what it said.

"_Nonverbal spells belong to every wizard's education. However, not few of them are incapable of performing them without at least whispering the spells. The main problem seems to be the essence of nonverbal spells: The spell needs to be visualized. The caster must have a mental picture of what he wants to perform. This book will help you with this difficult task."_

Well, he was on page 125 of 200 and still hadn't found one helpful sentence. Maybe, he was simply too stupid to learn this. He probably belonged to those "not few of them" that would never perform nonverbal spells. It frustrated him to no end seeing or rather being Voldemort every night who seemed to have perfected a nonverbal Crucio. Not that he wanted to learn this one, but the monster seemed to do anything magical with such ease Harry simply had no idea how he'd ever survive a direct fight with him. The prophecy… He tried to think as little as possible about it since right now it was clear who the stronger wizard of the two was.

After another terrible night, reading at two in the morning he finally found it, a chapter in the book that would change Harry's views of Occlumency.

"_Empathy_

_Empathy is the ability to understand, even feel the emotion of other humans or beings in general. It requires a certain amount of compassion and understanding of the behaviour of others. _

_Empathy in itself cannot be used for nonverbal spells, but it is said that some witches and wizards found it easier to visualize the feeling a certain spell causes in order to avoid saying the incantation."_

Empathy.

Within seconds he had the pieces together. It was all about emotion; Harry felt, literally felt Voldemort. His impression always had been strongest when the other man had displayed feelings whether happiness or anger.

That knowledge helped him more than all lessons with Snape together.

He thought back to that terrible night at the Ministry. Dumbledore had said that it had been his heart saving him and now he knew that the wise man had been right: Even when Voldemort was happy Harry sensed certain coldness, self-importance and triumph as if the other man was completely incapable of a positive feeling directed at others or for others. Lord Voldemort couldn't bare love; their first face to face encounter had proved that.

Snape had been wrong: It wasn't about letting go of all emotion. Harry had seen Voldemort dealing with Dementors completely unaffected; he even cherished their presence as if gaining power from being around them. Lack of emotion did not move him… Love did. Positive feelings did. Harry's shields would have to be like a Patronus charm not whatever Snape had tried to teach him. However, he was convinced that his Occlumency teacher hadn't tried to deceive him he hadn't made his mistake purposely. Controlling the mind, getting rid of all emotion seemed to work for him to occlude, but not for Harry.

All day, even while finishing his chores, he occluded or tried to, created his shields. While doing so he started to feel calmer, but he was also determined not to show Voldemort any pictures of the people that caused the feelings of safety, love and belonging.

Occasionally he remembered a certain smell or a soft sound that he included into his shields like a cloak, knowing Voldemort could never determine the source of it for the monster only trusted his eyes and intellect. He added the sound of Hermione turning a page and Ron's sounds while eating, not very appetizing but definitely diverting. Dumbledore's dangerous eyes while fazing Voldemort and soft, sparkling gaze were both part of his shields to put fear into his enemy's heart on one hand but to comfort himself on the other. All his friends were one way or another included and he knew his shields would only strengthen in time since other people would be added, the old ones never forgotten. He fingered his little talisman he had created a few days ago. Sirius he added, too, but as a hidden weapon ready to strike when needed, his guilt he buried, using it as backup, knowing that it might be able to throw Voldemort out but he didn't want it as shield since it hurt him.

And he included flying, the wonderful sentiment of being free, of feeling nothing but air rushing through his hair and with a sharp gaze trying to find the snitch, waiting like a hawk to strike.

The phoenix song was a part of it, soft, never loud, helping him to find his courage.

Hagrid's terrible cookies he added, too, the fresh smell of beacon that was on 's apron while he was at the Burrow, Neville's remembrall, Luna's view of the world full of wonders and things only she could see, Ginny's wit, detached and silent, impossible for an outsider to understand and of course… Hogwarts.

Creating a labyrinth of feelings and sounds he had heard and felt over the years all over the castle… The Gryffindor tower, his first and only home, the Gryffindor common room where he had had amusing, triumphing and terrible moments of fear and frustration, the Great Hall that still was a miracle to him, that (although he'd never tell the others) struck him everyday with awe, the dungeons and the terrible moment's he had had to spend there, Hagrid's hut, Dumbledore's office, deep down below the castle the room where the stone had been stored, the Astronomy tower, all the Class rooms, the Room of Requirement, the Chamber of Secrets, the Shrieking Shack, the Quidditch Pitch, the Lake, the Lands, the Forbidden Forest, everything was not analyzed but felt and heard. He could imagine it all without thinking of a single image.

Hogwarts became his fortress without walls, once again serving her purpose, protecting a student.

He knew, at one o'clock in the morning when he was finally satisfied with his shields that he'd never struggle with the Patronus Charm again: It was inside of him.

He knew his shields were strong but he was still afraid to sleep, he would've given anything if anybody could have tested the shields. For a second he wanted to apologize to Snape, but the man would never accept so there was no use.

Completely exhausted his head fell on the cushion, Harry being asleep before his body touched the mattress.

After that the dreams changed again.

He was no longer the murderer (and would no longer suffer from headaches when waking up) but a witness. He no longer saw things through Voldemort's eyes but was forced to watch them as Harry.

Waves of despair and fear from the victims and morbid pleasure of the tortures washed over him. It had been so intense that when he finally could rip himself from the place and woke up again, he had run to the bathroom retching.

It was the first night he cried, he hadn't cried in eight years (he had been at the brink of tears but they had never flowed so far). That night he cried, trying to be as silent as possible. He nearly choked, grieving for the four innocents who had lost their lives. He hadn't done anything, he wasn't sure if he could have.

He almost swore never to occlude like this ever again.

Avoiding sleep for nearly twenty-four hours, his exhaustion was too great and he forced himself to lay down.

He had to go there again, watching, emotions crushing him. That night, hours after he had woken up, he remembered what people sometimes said to those crying: "_No more tears_." They were right. He had no tears left to shed.

The next morning he tried to break down his shields, piece by piece but he was utterly unsuccessful, he would have had to obliviate himself in order to forget all the good things that happened to him if he wanted to get rid of his shields. He wasn't ready to do that to himself. To him, forgetting his friends was how he imagined the Dementor's Kiss.

A day later he could only imagine how terrible he must have looked like since Aunt Petunia's normally scathing, shrill tone demanding for breakfast had sounded more like an almost friendly suggestion.

His list of chores had seemed shorter that day.

It took him another nightmare-that-was-reality to realize that although he couldn't control the curses cast (he had tried to take a Cruciatus for that terrified muggle) not the intentions of the torturers (Tackling Bellatrix Lestrange in order to stop her from hurting that small girl had resulted in him simply falling through her) he had come to realize that he could ease the victim's pain.

At first, he hadn't really understood how he did it until one night - to be exact two days later, when his aunt and uncle had already stopped giving him chores since he was almost incapable of making breakfast without burning the beacon – he noticed that when he caught their eyes (at those moments their emotions seemed to literally attack him), their muscles seemed to relax slightly, their breathing seemed to ease. In return, he didn't feel quite as useless anymore. Giving comfort to other calmed his aching heart.

After that the nights became a little better, never relaxing, but he was able to function. Occasionally he could even live again, those moments happening when he wasn't thinking about the war, the dreams or Sirius. Although his chores had been doubled for being a _lazy, useless boy _the last couple days, he was enormously glad for the change.

He could even catch up on his schoolwork and the Daily Prophet that was about too many deaths, to much fear, too little real information and to many talks about the _Chosen One_. It nearly made him ill again. Hadn't he learnt his lessons last year, he wouldn't have continued reading the paper.

His dreams, as morbid as it sounded helped him coming to terms with his godfather's death:

He came to realize how very different people reacted to upcoming death. There were those who had come to accept, almost welcomed death after sessions of torture, some of them didn't even react to physical pain anymore. Harry never knew how to help those: Their heart seemed to have broken, their minds destroyed, the only thing that still seemed to work was the body itself, but it was only a shell, awaiting death.

Those who tried to bargain he always wanted to give some courage so they wouldn't have to spend their last moments crawling before the monster.

A small group of people truly puzzled him: There had been a man once, a fifty year old wizard who had been on his knees whispering: "This is not happening. He's not back. It's a dream. I'm not here." Even after being hit with the Cruciatus Curse he had still been whispering those words, Harry fruitlessly trying to catch his eyes to ease the pain, but the man hadn't looked up.

Finally there were the angry ones and those who did the same thing as his father: Standing upright refusing to back down and ready to make it as difficult as possible for Voldemort to kill them. However, even those always died.

That was the hardest thing. Nobody escaped, no one. Why him?

The worst were the displays of mothers dying to protect their children.

So many people had died for him and what was worse: Those kids always died, too. Why did he survive? There was nothing special about him, not one logical reason why he lived.

"_Harry_?" a voice came from a distance. He shook his head a little to come back to reality away from the memories.

"Harry?" This time he recognized Hermione's worried tone.

"Huh? Yes," he shook his head a little stronger, "I am sorry, Hermione. I was lost in thought. Is everything okay?"

"I am fine, but you seemed a little distracted." The worry in her voice hadn't disappeared yet. Harry rubbed his face.

"I am alright, too. Hermione. Just a little tired."

She didn't quite believe him, but decided not to probe.

"Let's go outside a little, before eating lunch. Ron waited outside the Portrait hole."

"Good idea. I'll be there in a moment, just let me get something from the bedroom." Hermione looked at him a little suspiciously, but decided to trust him. She nodded, turned around at left through the Portrait hole.

Harry sat down again to collect himself; his best friend wasn't suspicious without reason. He didn't need to go to the bedroom, but he'd have to calm down.

Over the summer he had learnt to protect his mind from intrusion, coming to terms with emotions flooding at him, even occasionally feel other people's sentiments, even the capability to "categorize" negative feelings and when allowed by the owner of said emotions even the ability to give them a positive streak. However well he could do that, dealing with his own feelings or those abilities in general were still a struggle. He'd have to study hard if he wanted to ever feel peace again or without ending up in a mental home.

He sat down and breathed, slowly detaching himself a little from the straining memories, thinking about the good sides of the summer like Dudley helping him or Aunt Petunia's almost gentle request. After a minute he was calm and collected, ready to enjoy his time with his friends.

* * *

Next Chapter: Respect, Dreams and Disdain


	3. Respect, Dreams and Disdain

**Respect, Dreams and Disdain**

On the way outside they met Professor McGonagall who told them about the plans concerning the DA. Hermione and Ron were delighted while Harry barely smiled.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Potter?" The Transfiguration teacher looked at him with her typical stern gaze.

"No, Professor. Not at all," he said a little too quickly. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"We cannot leave you unsupervised. I hope your realize the irresponsibility of your actions of having done so last year." Hermione looked down deeply ashamed, Ron's smile faltered.

Harry on the other hand looked her directly into her eyes, all of a sudden very serious: "I am well aware of the consequences of my actions, Professor. You have my word that what happened last year will never happen again. I hesitated earlier not because I do not want to be supervised but because resuming the DA lessons never came to my mind."

"Why ever not, Potter?" She said, a little sharper than intended, but she wanted to get rid of the uneasy sensation his gaze caused. It wasn't dangerous, but looking into those emerald eyes was like looking into the eyes of a very old and wise man making her feel like a child. The only other person who had that effect on her was Albus. To her great surprise the young man seemed to sense her uneasiness and took a little step back, his eyes softened looking more appropriate his age.

"We created this group last year because of Um… Prof… Miss Umbridge," the Transfiguration Teacher had to suppress a smile. Potter seemed to be unable to call Dolores _Professor_ as well, "We knew Voldemort was back," (Ron and Professor McGonagall flinched, Hermione could suppress it), "and I was the only one who had certain experience in defence."

This time the skilled teacher was unable to keep her eyebrow from rising. The boy before her had had more encounters with Dark Magic and dangers in general in the last five years than most people had all their life. Yet he was standing here telling her in a completely serious manner that he had "certain experience". She dearly hoped You-Know-Who would never hear this. She looked at the other two who silently shook their heads, nonverbally saying that all trying was useless.

Again the boy seemed to have read her thoughts and blushed deeply while continuing his reasoning: "So we created this group in order to learn to survive. However, now we have an instructor who teaches us that very… enthusiastically isn't the word I'd usually use to describe Professor Moody, in this case it seems fitting." _Why did her lips twitch so much? She was supposed to be stern._

"I don't see the point in continuing the DA lessons, Professor. Please, thank Professor Dumbledore for allowing us, but…"

She didn't let him finish. All amusement was gone at once: "_You don't see the point_?" She repeated, her lips a thin line, "Mr. Potter, you do realize there is a war outside. If there was ever a _point _in a Defence _Club_ it is now."

Professor McGonagall wanted to continue, but Potter's eyes flashed with anger. She waited for the explosion and was ready to take points for impropriety. However, she was surprised by the sixteen-year-old: "You misunderstand me, Professor." She saw his left hand trembling in anger, his right hand – the one she knew he normally held his wand with – was calm to a point it frightened her.

"I did not mean the lessons are unnecessary. I just think it would make more sense if those lessons are not only supervised but held by one of the teachers. Last year, there was no possibility to ask a professor. This year, that is no problem." He breathed in and seemed very calm for a moment, "I do not flatter myself to be as capable an instructor as Professor Moody or any teacher attending this school."

The seriousness was back in his eyes. He opened his mouth again, but was interrupted by Ms Granger, "That is simply not true, Harry. You were brilliant as an instructor last year. You are right about Professor Moody being a great teacher, but half of the younger students fear him and he's the last professor I would want in the DA since although it's important to take it all seriously I'd fear some of us wouldn't come out unharmed. We always did with you. Nobody ever got hurt during one of your lessons."

"You did get hurt," he interjected, shame visible on his features and voice.

"That was different." Professor McGonagall saw the young witch being a little bit desperate.

"It was, indeed," although having agreed to let the lessons resume, the Transfiguration teacher hadn't been very happy about it. Now she was intrigued. Ms Granger might care deeply for her friend, but comparing him to a professor and praising him like this in front of her Head of House was unusual, "How about this, Mr. Potter? Next week there will be a lesson. You will give me time and place of the meeting and I will come to supervise. You will be watched and if necessary corrected. At the end of the lesson will be decided whether to resume DA lessons in general. Are you in favour?"

He looked at her pensively.

"I am." His answer was a little quiet but strong.

"Very well. I'll see you next week and expect the date on our first lesson. Enjoy your day!" With that Minerva McGonagall was ready to leave, but when she turned around, Potter's voice stopped her: "Professor McGonagall?" She looked at him again.

"I realize my behaviour last year seemed to indicate the contrary, but you should know: There aren't many people who know better that there is a war going on than I do." She couldn't hear any anger but he sounded a little off, again the experienced teacher had the feeling of facing an old man, not a boy.

"I know, Mr. Potter." She didn't know what else to say. Looking into those emerald eyes she recognized a sort of sad amusement as if proclaiming _No, you don't. But thanks for saying so._

A little worried she nodded in order to depart and left towards her office. She wouldn't forget the boy's expression for a while.

* * *

"Harry…" The young wizard looked at his best friend. Hermione looked pained, "it was not your fault."

Now it was his turn to look upset. A little roughly he said: "Let's not talk about it, okay?"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak again, but to Harry's great relief Ron interjected: "Sure. Let's go to the lake." Although his red-haired friend didn't show it, Harry felt that Ron was worried, too. It was hard to ignore their feelings, but he just couldn't talk about what happened at the Ministry. All the things he had learnt over the summer didn't help when facing his own guilt and the only person to ease his pain didn't live anymore, was out of reach for the rest of his life. He could only bury the pain. He knew it was wrong, but he'd break down if he thought about it too much and as much as he loved them, Hermione and Ron wouldn't be able to help him up again since they could never completely understand.

At the lake Ron explained Harry the strategies he had created for the first Quidditch practice after the try-outs next Tuesday.

Ron had been announced Quidditch Captain after Katie Bell had declined. Professor McGonagall had asked Harry if that decision was alright since Seekers usually had to keep their eyes on the Snitch and it was tactically better to have another player like a Chaser or Keeper to be Captain. Since he played the longest except for Katie however, Harry had the privilege to become captain. He had been too happy to decline, apart from the fact the letter had arrived in the first week after his shields had come into action and he had resembled more a zombie than a human being, he knew how important this was for Ron. Apart from being a better strategist than Harry was, it would mean so much more to Ron to be Captain than Harry.

It did indeed. Ron had worn the Quidditch Captain batch right next to his Prefect batch while entering the Hogwarts train. Mrs. Weasley's pride had been obvious fingering both batches with loving care; Mr. Weasley too had looked very pleased. Harry immediately felt bad, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy, not because of the batches but his friend's incredible luck to have two people who displayed so much pride for the things he had achieved.

At the same time Harry knew that even if he had achieved anything of importance except for a certain ability to survive, he had lost the right of having somebody to be proud of him. That right had disappeared together with Sirius' death.

While trying to get rid of the dark, selfish thoughts he listened to Ron who explained him three times over the Chaser's formation and what he expected from his Beaters until Hermione told him to stop.

Harry saw Ron's hurt expression and interfered before a fight broke out since he knew Ron tended to lash out in moments like this: "How about lunch, guys? I am starving."

He wasn't, but he hoped his best friend was. The second his words had left his mouth they heard Ron's stomach grumble. They all laughed.

"I am not the only one, it seems," Harry smiled. His heart felt a bit lighter than before. It was always easier when everything was in balance, especially their friendship.

* * *

That evening Harry was in a good mood. It had been a great day, though a bit worried about the DA lessons (first lesson on Wednesday, 6pm, the Room of Requirement) and having been alone long enough to recollect his terrible summer, he had enjoyed his first Saturday back at Hogwarts.

It was time to go to sleep and just like every night he tried to strengthen his shields anew. Sometimes it was harder to think of the good things happening in a day, sometimes it was easier. This day, it was ridiculously easy since he could add another being to his shields.

He thought of the minute Cara had smiled after he had told her of his ideas. Her voice full of shier delight after having realized that she could write her parents came to his mind and Harry added it softly, put it under a layer so it wouldn't only protect him but her as well.

Then he thought back to his encounter with Snape, it hadn't been bad but not good either. Harry sighed a little thinking about the Potions Professor.

Harry didn't hate him anymore. Like so many things this had changed over the summer as well: At first he had hated the man with passion, even blamed him for Sirius' death, but although that evaporated rather quickly, he still had neither respected nor – _Merlin, forbid!_ – liked the man. He hadn't been sure of the man's loyalties either.

That changed after one of the first nights his dreams had started: Snape told Voldemort/him that he had been forced by Dumbledore to give remedial potions lessons, no word about Occlumency or Harry's inaptitude at it.

A real change of heart Harry had many weeks later when his new shields had been up forcing him to watch everything as a witness. During torture sessions he had always felt the Death Eaters morbid pleasure safe two people: Voldemort and Snape. There was a vast difference between the two, however. Being near Voldemort had nearly knocked him down, it wasn't pleasure but coldness and indifference while around Snape there was a simple void.

The Potions Professor occluded every single feeling he had and by that unconsciously demonstrating his pupil what a true Master of Occlumency was capable of. The man felt but did not show it.

His teacher's abilities were a gift in Harry's eyes for it became an almost soothing presence for Harry when he couldn't wake up and needed a moment to recollect himself.

The main reason for the sixteen-year-old's respect for the other man was another: Harry very soon learnt that Snape strictly refused to hurt women and most especially children. Voldemort accepted it since the other man was important as a spy, a uniquely skilled Potions Master as much as a very powerful wizard in general. What Harry had surprised however that this acceptance didn't only exist for a couple of months but actually for years. It had surprised Harry to say the least; nevertheless it caused him to always think of the tall man as Professor Snape because when somebody risked the maniac's wrath in order to protect children, he truly earned his title as teacher.

The realization had come slowly over the summer, but Harry knew he'd have to apologize for looking into the Pensieve for although he did not expect to be forgiven, he had disrespected the man by invading his privacy and that was something he was ashamed of. That didn't mean he'd do it right away. As nervous as he was about facing Professor Dumbledore again, looking the Potions Master in the eyes and apologizing was almost unimaginable.

Harry felt his eyelids becoming heavier and right before falling asleep he managed to put up his shields.

_He felt his mind travelling, although having done it a hundred __times; it still filled him with fear…_

There were no innocents here tonight, Harry recognized to his relief. He'd watch a Death Eater meeting. Everything would be alright.

Even with their masks on, the young wizard knew every single one having seen them too many times already: Messrs Parkinson, Goyle, Crabbe, Nott, Malfoy and others. Apart from Professor Snape and Bellatrix Lestrange every Death Eater had at least one child at Hogwarts.

"Welcome, Death Eaters," Voldemort's icy voice was always heard, not matter how quietly he spoke, "You all know why you are here tonight: Your sons and daughters watched Harry Potter. Tell me, what do they report? Speak."

Mr. Parkinson explained hesitantly that his daughter only saw him occasionally in class, "They attend Potions, Defence and Transfiguration together. She told me he was the same as ever, although seemingly more knowledgeable than before… But otherwise he's the same arrogant boy."

Nott cut in immediately: "He showed no special aptitude at nonverbal spells, my son told me. He struggled immensely." Harry's ears burned in embarrassment. It was true, just like he had feared; his abilities to perform nonverbal spells seemed inexistent. The instructions about visualizing the spells helped him about as much as when he had read _Mind's Magic_. Completely frustrated he had decided on Friday to start over next week. He would try to do his incantations the same way he had created his shields, by sounds and feelings. He'd do it in his first lesson on Monday (Charms) since he didn't dare to experiment with spells unsupervised. Creating Occlumency shields was one thing; he could only hurt himself, but active spells? Never again would he endanger others he had promised himself and that included magical tests.

"Did he, now?" Amusement was heard in their master's tone of voice. Relief that wasn't his own washed over Harry.

"Severus? What do you think? Is there any talent visible in the boy?" His lipless mouth twitched, the red eyes glowing.

"My Lord," Professor Snape said, stepping forward, "I have told you before: He has no extraordinary talent at all. He has fought his way out of a number of tight corners by a simple combination of sheer luck and more talented friends. He is mediocre to the last degree, though as obnoxious and self-satisfied as was his own father before him (HBP, Chapter "Spinner's End", p.36). My opinion of him is unchanged, actually after the arrogant display he showed last year – the rebellion he started with his little friends as well as the utter lack of propriety during those _private remedial potions lessons_," the words were spoken with so much disgust they caused Harry to look away, shame washing over him, "lowered what little opinion I might have had of him to a point not even his late father and godfather had managed to reach. They at least only risked their enemies' lives but never the well-being of their friends."

It took a moment for Harry to recover, blood rushing in his ears.

Harry woke up with a start, his roommates all slept soundly.

Harry put his face in his hands suppressing a desperate sob. He had felt bad about last year before, but never as miserable as this moment after having heard the harsh words spoken by man who hated him but who had also never lied to him or tried to spare his feelings by telling white lies.

He'd apologize, right tomorrow he'd apologize somehow. He didn't know how, but he would make things right. Making himself very small, he laid back trying to distract himself from the knot in his chest.

It took him over an hour before he slept again. He didn't dream of Death Eater meetings or torture sessions but of Sirius accusing him for his death joined by his father telling him how disappointed he was.

* * *

Well, another chapter...

First of all I want to thank Pellegrina who reviewed not only once but twice. Your nice review actually caused me to try it with another chapter in the hope of getting reviews! Thanks again!

Then also thank you Cheated of Between, jennadancer, minerdude and BOOkwOrm92 for reviewing, I truly appreciate it.

Please, I am not asking for huge reviews, a "sounds interesting, keep going" is alright and only takes a minute.

Constructive criticism like the one of Cheated of Between is very welcome as well (I hope it was only the second chapter that seemed a bit robotic for I did so on purpose. If you still think so, please tell me).

Again, I am not a native speaker and I apologize for every lingual and grammatical mistake I make. Please correct me if I do something grossly wrong (I am still looking for a Beta, by the way *puppy dog eyes looking at you*)

I am starving, please feed me with reviews!

Thanks for every reader who went as far as the third chapter :-)


	4. September at Hogwarts, Part One

**Chapter 4: September at Hogwarts**

The next morning Harry woke up early, very tired but with fierce determination. He stole himself out of the bedroom carrying three books, quills and several sheets of parchment and left for the Gryffindor Common Room. As always at four in the morning he was the only one awake.

They had received a lot of homework in their first week, but regular nights of light sleep had their advantage: The only essay he hadn't written already was a complicated Potions paper Snape had told them to do on Thursday concerning healing potions focusing on Essence of Murtlap. Since he knew its effects very well, he focused less on effects but more on what changes came about in the body to actually feel a soothing sensation. It was difficult and his textbook for school was utterly unhelpful so he had gone to the library and lent _Potions Working Their Magic_ by _Benjamin Brauer_. (He'd never forget the delighted look on Hermione's face and the horrified expression of Ron when he had proclaimed he'd go to the library for research.)

While starting to write his essay however, he did what had caused his determination to get up in the morning.

He wanted to write a letter to Professor Snape. He knew the man would never listen to him if he voiced his apology in front of him and although he doubted his letter would ever be read in a whole, he'd at least try.

_/_Dear_/__ Professor /_Snape_/_

_/_I know_/ /_There is no_/ /_I wanted to_/_

_As surprised as you must be to /_read_/ /_hear_/__ receive a message from me, be assured that this is not meant to be a prank._

_Please, read this letter completely, /_it is very important that you do so/_._

_First of all, I need to apologize /_for the way I treated you/ _for the insolence I more than once displayed in your presence. There are many situations I could apologize for but most especially for having invaded your privacy last term. It was inexcusable. What you should know however is that I didn't meant to invade your privacy but receive information about the war. _

_Be assured I have never talked to anybody but my godfather and Professor Lupin about it._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

_(author note: /_word/ _means that Harry scratched the word)_

Frustrated Harry looked at what he had written and was dissatisfied with it. It was more difficult than one would think. He laid the letter away not tearing it up for possible later use. He spelled it with a basic Privacy Charm and stored it away in his Potions textbook.

He'd write another, a better one.

After having written two more letters he gave up nearly running out of ink that had been used to scratch sentences (_Be assured I took your lessons very seriously, not during term, but later in the summer – I must be one of the last people you expected to receive a letter from – I wish you could test my shields since I am aware of your power as a Legilimence – I never thanked you for saving my life in my first year_). He'd try another day. He stocked the three letters between the last pages of his Potions textbook, making a mental note not to leave them in it since there was always the possibility of taking them along to class.

After that he refocused back on his essay. Professor Snape's homework he had never excelled in. He remembered how hard he had tried in the first three assignments (for he couldn't see the reason for the man's obvious disdain and had hoped to gain his approval by paying attention to class) but every single time it had been barely deemed acceptable. At first he wondered what he had done wrong, then one week he simple hadn't had the time to carefully write an essay, so he could only hand in sloppy work… Oh, how scared he had been, if the teacher treated his carefully made papers so severely, how would he react to this? He had received a grade only minimally lower than his good homework. Like this he learnt very quickly that no matter how much time and thought he invested, his grades would never be above acceptable.

He regretted now never having tried to handle potions with more care. He had had so much to catch during the summer but all studying wasn't worth a thing if he didn't find a way to bring it to paper. He knew he was late, but he'd try. Maybe, just maybe Professor Snape would notice his efforts and that might cause him to realize the sincerity of his apology.

'_First, you'll have to bring your apology to paper, otherwise Professor Snape will never doubt the honesty of your words since he'll never hear them', _a nasty voice informed him. Harry sighed. There was so much he wanted to say, he simply was at loss how.

Voicing his thoughts and feelings was incredibly difficult for him; his encounter with Cara had proofed that: Although having misunderstood her first, he had recognized her distress and had tried to ease it, as soon as he had been forced to voice his efforts for comfort he had stumbled over the words.

Before frustration threatened to overcome him, he stood up and walked about the room. It was a mild September morning; the fire-place would not be used for several weeks unless the weather changed.

He breathed in deeply trying to completely ignore everything but potions itself, but he failed miserably. He remembered the Potions Master's harsh words about his irresponsibility, laziness and mediocrity.

He wanted to show Snape that he took classes seriously. As if on cue the nasty little voice returned: '_He's got proof for the contrary during the last five years. Do you really think, he will change his opinion of you just because you make an expected effort?'_

Harry sat down in one of the comfy arm-chairs right by the window. He saw daybreak slowly approaching, but it would take awhile until the sun rose.

He heard the soft sound of the wind and closed his eyes. He imagined himself flying for he had realized over the summer that up in the air was the one place he felt safe, a little more confident and free, forgetting all about the world. However, this realization at Privet Drive hadn't been relaxing but depressing. In order to gain relief he had used his newly created shields to recollect himself by utilizing the flying parts of his shields. Like this he could let go of his frustration. Just like at Privet Drive, it worked here as well.

With another deep breath he felt calmness overcome him experiencing a fraction of the peace he craved.

He went back to his table and continued writing his potions essay. By the time he finished it, the sun had arisen and the castle with its inhabitants started to wake up.

He went back to the dormitory in order to take a shower. His potions books and letters he put back into his trunk (careful not to wake his peers). When he came back with his hair wet, the others were still sleeping, Neville's snores were accompanied by Seamus' usual mumbling when he was about to wake up. Quickly and quietly he went to his trunk, taking his Defence books (the schoolbook _The Dark Forces: A guide to Self-Protection Volume VI_; _Advanced Defence – How to defend yourself when the situation is dire; The Dark Arts Outsmarted; Easy Spells As Mighty Shields; Of Wards And Shields_) and two of the notebooks Dudley had bought for him in a Muggle shop next to the library (by his request, of course). Putting all of it into his schoolbag he left the bedroom without making a sound.

Back down in the Gryffindor Common room he sat down at the table he normally chose unless taken by someone else. It was seven o'clock in the morning and Harry expected the early risers of his House to come down any minute, Hermione would be among them, too. Harry didn't count himself to the early risers. He simply avoided sleep in general.

As long as nobody was here Harry opened one of his notebooks, the one he had spelled with seven different Privacy Spells as soon as he had had the chance (on the Hogwarts train when Hermione and Ron had been called to the new Prefects and had left their usual compartment). He was the only person able to read this notebook _or see it for that matter_. It contained notes about what he had learnt (mostly spells) over the summer as much as tactical things concerning Voldemort as in what he had learnt enemy in his dreams about his mortal. Although doubting he'd ever forget what he saw in his dreams he wasn't ready to take chances.

His shields he didn't explain, even if he had been able to put it into words he wasn't ready to risk that book falling into an enemy's hand for there was always the possibility to break privacy charms. Voldemort proofed that on regular basis by getting information people sometimes didn't even realize they had.

He flipped through his notes or rather the titles he had written (_Defence Spells – Nonverbal Spells – Voldemort's Security Wards – His Inner Circle – His Allies – __His victims_ (he had tried but he couldn't write down the names without driving himself mad)_ – Potions Notes – Healing Spells (_Over the summer he had started to research about fixing injuries after having seen so many people physically hurt. In case he should ever encounter a hurt being, he'd do his best to help them._)_ – _His Weaknesses (_a pitifully short list that contained two different things: "short temper" and "unable to bare positive emotion") – _Helping (_He hadn't really found a better title. Here he wrote down as detailed as possible when the victims seemed to react to his _presence_. It wasn't much since he couldn't really explain himself how or why it worked; some of them just seemed to calm down. Occasionally he could even brighten their dark thoughts, but he didn't understand the differences between the people he could help and those he couldn't. The only thing he knew was that eye-contact seemed to help, he also felt something, but he couldn't grasp it let alone describe it_))_. He magically copied the spells and some of the tactically concerned notes from the notebook and transferred that into the other muggle notebook. He hadn't used that yet.

Unlike the other he titled it with a black marker (the muggle shop had given those for free): **Dumbledore's Army****.**

Although he didn't expect Professor McGonagall to approve of his lessons and was fully aware of Wednesday being the last DA class with him as instructor, he wouldn't go there unprepared.

He pulled forward his notes from last year (the only notes of his fifth year he was proud of for they were detailed lists of what the members of the DA had learnt and who struggled with which spells.)

As he looked them through he started to wonder who'd come. Hermione and Ron he was sure, Neville, Luna and Ginny would surprise him if they didn't come but all the others? His peers from fifth year (including Padma Patil from Ravenclaw), the Creevey brothers and Katie Bell would probably come. Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abott, Susan Bones, Ernie Macmillan maybe. But Terry Boot, Cho Chang, Michael Corner, Zacharias Smith or Marietta, the one who had betrayed them? It was all very unlikely.

He suddenly remembered that night on the graveyard, when Voldemort had asked himself so quietly who'd come and who was foolish enough to stay away.

Harry thought differently. He wouldn't blame a single person when they decided to stay away. However, he understood the restless pace of Voldemort a little better. Yes, to the snake-like man the Death Eaters were servants and slaves and his restlessness had been about obedience and frustration that had built up over thirteen years hoping in vain for the appearance of at least one of his oh-so-faithful followers. Nevertheless, Harry couldn't stop himself from wondering if Voldemort had been worried, too. As soon as he finished that thought he shoved it away shaking his head.

He focused back on his notes and started to plan his last Defence lesson. He had forgotten how much the DA lessons helped him in his fifth year. They had been important lessons but there had been a lot of fun, too. With a smile he remembered Fred and George disarming Zacharias Smith leaving him and Anthony Goldstein puzzled.

Harry heard someone leaving their Dormitory and walking down the stairs. He didn't have to turn around to know who it was; there were only few whose presence he knew better: "Good morning, Hermione." He looked at her with a smile.

"Good morning, Harry. How did you know it was me?" She looked happy to see him mixed with the usual worry that seemed to be on her face every time she looked at him. It made him feel bad and he was determined not to let her show his distress as often as he did.

"It is unlikely for anybody but you to get up at seven o'clock on a Sunday morning in order the study," he said pointing at her pile of books and the sheets of parchment that fluttered in between making the unmistakable sound of Hermione Granger approaching.

"Look who's talking," she answered, her eyebrows lifted. She had of course noticed how early Harry seemed to wake up every morning. Today she looked more carefully than before since Harry although never having been a late riser had never belonged to those who rise early either. She saw a slight darkness around Harry's eyes that betrayed her best friend's exhaustion but nothing that would seem extreme. Still, she was worried.

As always, he evaded: "What are your study plans until we go to the Great Hall?"

"Well, I haven't done my Runes translation yet and I wanted to prepare for classes next week."

"Great, you do that and I'll do the stuff I've got here." Hermione looked at the books; among them a muggle notebook on its cover was written _Dumbledore's Army_. Her interest was peaked. She looked at him silently asking for permission. His answer was a smiling nod. It didn't take her long to realize that Harry was preparing DA lessons. It surprised her however to see sheets of parchment that seemed to be written in some sort of code.

_Lesson__ 1_

_Recalling of Professor Snape's demonstration in second year_

_Demonstration completed not perfected. A lot to improve (the shy ones lack in confidence, the confident ones doubt the efficiency of the demonstration)_

_Combined next time with the knowledge of how to meet a dragon and blast-ended skrets_

Quickly Hermione flipped through the sheets looking at Harry in puzzlement.

"Harry," her voice betrayed her utter confusion, "what are those?"

"Just some notes I made last year. I know it's stupid, I simply couldn't risk Umbridge finding out and it wouldn't have been below her to go through my stuff. However, I needed a memory-aid otherwise I would have lost focus. I know I should have put privacy charms on them not writing in some sort of code, but I didn't know any at the time." He looked away a little ashamed.

"A good idea, actually. May I see what you plan for Wednesday?"

"I'd be grateful to be honest. I'm not sure what Professor McGonagall expects. Besides, it's the last DA lesson; I want the others to keep the lessons in good memory." Harry was a little bit taken aback by Hermione's completely bewildered look.

"Why ever would this be the last DA lesson?"

"I mean the last one that is taught by me." Her look only changed a fraction but the confusion on her face was still obvious. "You didn't really believe that Professor McGonagall will let me continue the lessons, did you? I am fully prepared to be taught by a teacher. It will be great to let go off that responsibility."

Slowly Hermione's expression morphed into a soft and to his surprise guilty one: "Don't you want to be our instructor anymore?"

_Did he?_ He was only sure of one thing: He wouldn't risk his friend's lives ever again and as much as he had enjoyed giving the lessons he could only teach so much. An experienced fighter like Professor Moody would help the DA members much more than he could with his inarticulate speech. He decided to be honest: "It's not about what I want. It is about what's best for you," he thought that sounded arrogant and added, "and myself. We'll learn so much more. Last year was _different _for the lack of a better word. Let's face it, Hermione. I am not as good in Defence as you believe. I've fought my way out of a number of tight corners by a simple combination of sheer luck and more talented people trying to protect me, " he modified Snape's words a little, "I am nothing but a mediocre wizard and to be honest, hadn't Dumbledore showed up last summer we wouldn't be having this conversation since I'd be dead. _He_ raised his wand and I couldn't move all thoughts of magic had left my mind. Who am I to tell you people how to defend yourself when all the protection I've ever used was other people's love for me, of people who died protecting me."

"Harry, stop it!" Hermione was flabbergasted. She had known Harry felt terribly guilty over Sirius but she realized now that the situation was much more severe, "what you're saying simply isn't true. Do not dare to call yourself mediocre it is terribly condescending towards all those who died facing Vol-Voldemort," when she saw Harry look away she realized that accusing Harry of arrogance was the last thing she should do, "I'm not saying you did everything alone but don't you see how incredible the things are that you did?" Judging by his expression, he truly had no idea. Maybe, she could ease his pain another way: "As for what happened at the Ministry," he flinched, "Minutes before facing _him _you'd just lost one of the people you loved the most. Nobody blames you for not knowing how to react when having to face the man who was responsible for it all, a man who has been trying to kill you for so many years."

"I didn't want to die," he defended himself immediately.

"Of course you didn't, Harry," she wanted to continue, but was interrupted by her friend who blurted out: "I should have listened to you. I am sorry, I didn't. I was an idiot," his eyes seemed wet, but no tears fell. She embraced him and said softly into his ear: "If I had dreamed of my parents being tortured by You-Kn…Lord Voldemort, I would have never listened to you, either. Ultimately your intention was noble. It's okay."

He released his best friend looking at her a little unsurely. It was good to finally have eased one of his regrets by apologizing (the one concerning Hermione, of course. Not matter what she said; the fiasco at the Ministry was his mistake entirely). Now however, he was embarrassed.

"Sorry for that," he mumbled, but all he received was an exasperated "Boys!" that caused him to laugh.

Hermione looked at him very seriously again: "Promise me to at least listen to what the others want, Harry. Promise me, to give the DA another chance."

He nodded reluctantly not really believing in the people's acceptance although having done so last year they hadn't had a choice and they hadn't been put in jeopardy back then.

They were interrupted by the Creevey brothers loudly talking to each other. Hermione and Harry both focused back on their work not wanting to have such a serious conversation so openly.

The rest of the day was like many Sundays they'd had over their years at Hogwarts. After Ron had finally woken up, they had gone to the Great Hall, ate breakfast and visited Hagrid. The gamekeeper had been hurt about them not having continued Care of Magical Creatures but finally forgave them after Harry had explained how much time he invested for his other subjects.

Hagrid's forgivness mostly came because he had noticed Harry's distress over his anger. To him, Harry was still the little boy he had picked up from the Dursleys and he was ready to do anything to ease his young friend's burden at least a little and by understanding the sixteen-year-old concerning his subjects seemed to help.

Other than that the so-called Golden Trio was at the lake. Harry and Ron practiced flying on the pitch as well (Harry played so brilliantly as a Chaser it caused Ron to ask if he wanted to have the position. Harry's answer was that he'd take it if he didn't make it through his try-outs as seeker, to his bewilderment Ron and Hermione simply laughed (Hermione actually giggled, something she never did especially concerning Quidditch). When he had asked them what was so funny, they had just laughed harder, Ron mumbling something about gullibility.

In the afternoon they studied: Ron had to finish his homework, Hermione studied for Arithmancy and Harry researched in healing charms deciding that if time allowed it, he'd include that to DA lessons as well. Hermione was highly intrigued in Harry's studies; she asked so many questions Harry had to remind her of her own work.

That night wasn't relaxing for Harry but although waking up at four o'clock nobody had died and there had been no meeting plotting anybody's death. Those nights were full of bad dreams of past visions and worries but at least Harry could tell himself they weren't real.

* * *

First classes on Monday was a double lesson in Charms. Their tiny professor told them that in order to learn nonverbal spells they would practice first-year spells. There had been so many NEWT students who took Charms they had to split up the class. On Monday morning's lesson it was a group of Gryffindors and Slytherins. Malfoy however hadn't managed to take the class, Crabbe and Goyle hadn't either. Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini attended the class. Harry was glad about it; Pansy Parkinson wasn't openly hostile when not around Malfoy and neither were the others. He was careful around Theodore and Pansy however since he knew they were ordered by their parents to spy on him. On the other hand he had decided occasionally to let them know something that might not be of importance for the war but would satisfy Voldemort since he knew how cruel the monster could be. As little as he liked them no one deserved to be under the dark wizard's wrath.

"Wingardium Leviosa. You cannot work with the pronunciation when you do not say the spells. As we learnt and practiced last week try to picture the effects of the spell. Imagine yourself letting the feather rise from the desk slightly above your head. I know whispering is tempting but try not to do so."

At the end of the lesson many had managed to let their feather at least turn around its axis, safe for Seamus who had managed to turn his feather to a pile of dust after he had let it explode and Neville who seemed to lack, not unlike Harry, completely the ability of nonverbal magic. Milicent Bulstrode struggled terribly as well.

There were only four who managed to make it actually fly: Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini and Harry's two best friends.

Ron who was very proficient at the spell since his encounter with the troll and he managed to do it so swiftly he was only beaten by Hermione, a fact that caused Professor Flitwick to award ten points to Gryffindor. Ron was so proud of it he started to give Harry guidelines for the Boy-who-lived was the only person in the room completely incapable of even making the feather move. The tips were unhelpful ("_Just see it right in front of you. Tell the wand what it must do."_).

Professor Flitwick dismissed but asked Harry, Neville and Millicent to remain after class (Seamus had managed to make the feather move before it had exploded).

"Do not be discouraged," the teacher squeaked, "just keep on trying. Keep in mind that not everybody is able to do it; it is nothing to be ashamed of. I am convinced however that you'll learn it."

With that he dismissed them; Harry approached the Charms Professor after the other two had closed the door: "Sir, I have a theory but I didn't dare to try it with other people in class. May I come to you and experiment a little under your supervision?"

Harry had never seen his Charms teacher so delighted: "Yes, certainly, Mr. Potter." His voice seemed even higher than usual. "My door is open. Is lunchtime alright for you? After you have eaten, of course?"

"Yes, Sir. Thank you. I'll be there at 12.30."

"I'll see you then, Mr. Potter."

A little bewildered but in a better mood Harry left the classroom to his surprise seeing Neville and Millicent Bulstrode in a conversation.

"Yes, I remember that, too," he heard Neville saying, "Professor Snape slammed Lockhart down with Expelliarmus. You had to train with Hermione, didn't you?"

Millicent only nodded. Harry saw her embarrassment, "It got a little violent, though."

"Better you and Hermione than Harry and Malfoy."

To the Gryffindors' surprise there was a derisive snort from the sixteen-year-old rather heavy and tall girl. Her features had softened over the years: "Well, if Draco would be capable of fighting a fair fight he would stand no chance against Potter."

Harry who had wanted to make his presence known was suddenly unable to move a muscle. Neville's response surprised him even more: "No doubt. I am surprised to hear this from you, however."

"A Slytherin, you mean. Cunning is not equalled with arrogance, you know," a soft smile brightened her face to a point it changed her whole appearance, "I have seen Potter enough times to know he's a strong wizard. He was the only one throwing off the Imperius Curse by Moody in forth year, so I've heard." Suddenly, she seemed more serious, "A Slytherin is not equalled with being a follower of You-Know-Who, either. In my house it is forbidden even to call him Dark Lord."

All of a sudden Harry remembered a meeting last summer when Voldemort had told Mr. Parkinson to have Pansy befriending with Millicent Bulstrode since _"her foolish parents still refused their alliance"_ and was answered by Mr. Parkinson that Millicent and Blaise Zabini were close friends and did things mostly by themselves. Since the Zabini's didn't follow Voldemort either it would be waste of time. Although having formulated it much more subdued, he was tortured by the monster who had been enraged.

Harry decided to dare something: "Millicent?" The girl flinched and looked at him, her wand at the ready, "sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I just wondered: Are you interested in a Defence club?"

She looked at him, seemed to calculate his intentions, when she saw no reason to doubt his honesty, she said: "Why?"

"Do you remember last year the Defence group some of us formed?" A hesitant nod was the answer: "Lessons resume this week. However, new members are welcome since we don't have to keep the meetings as a secret anymore. Are you interested?"

He met her thoughtful look with a friendly smile. Again she nodded.

"Wednesday, 5.30 pm right here. Neville or I will pick you up."

Her features were even, but Harry felt curiosity burn inside her. "Okay." She hesitated for a moment then looked him directly in the eyes. "Can I take somebody along?"

"Sure. Just make sure it is somebody you can trust."

She looked at him in disbelieve. "You trust me?"

"I don't know. You never picked on me or any of my friends for that matter. The only encounter we had was that fight in the Duelling Club. Back then we were just kids. After that encounter you never did anything to us again. The only thing I could hold against you is that you are a Slytherin and that is simply not good enough a reason to dislike somebody. I am willing to trust you. How about you?"

To his surprise she held out her hand without uncertainty: "My name is Millicent. Nice to meet you."

"Harry," he smiled. "Nice to meet you, too." Her lips went up in their corners.

"I thought you don't have to keep the meetings a secret anymore," she said a little confused when she recalled his words.

"Yes. However, that doesn't mean I am going to invite followers of Voldemort to those lessons." Neville and Millicent both flinched at the mention of the name.

"Makes sense. How do you know I don't follow You-Know-Who?" Her curiosity was now to be seen on her face as well.

"I just do," was Harry's rather cryptic answer.

They heard the ring bell which made them realize they were late for their next class, Neville and Harry for Herbology, Millicent had a free period. The two boys ran down the corridors knowing they'd just lost the point Hermione and Ron had gained for them.

* * *

Harry's lunch was rather short but he told his friends about whom he invited to the DA.

"You what? Harry, have you lost your mind? She's a Slytherin," Ron protested.

"She's nice. Really, Ron! Please, trust on my character judgment." He didn't want to start a fight. The red-haired young man was oblivious to that when he opened his mouth to insult Slytherins in general.

Harry interrupted: "Guys, look! Please, just give her a chance. Who knows, you might like her." Reluctantly Ron nodded, Hermione didn't seem too happy, but decided not to say anything for now. Harry told them about going to Professor Flitwick after lunch concerning nonverbal spells which had shortened lunchtime for the slim boy already. He didn't eat much when stressed or emotionally distressed in general, she wouldn't risk him losing his appetite entirely.

A little nervous Harry knocked at the classroom door. He heard Professor Flitwick's squeaky "come in", opened the door and entered.

"Hello, Professor. I hope you were able to enjoy lunch, however short it was, Sir. I am sorry about that."

"Don't be silly, Mr Potter. You intrigued me with your vague allusions. Could you tell me what you have in mind?"

"I cannot really explain it. May I try it first, Sir?" Harry was unsure whether this would work in the first place. He didn't want to make a complete fool of himself by explaining his _theory of nonverbal magic_ and be wrong about it in the end.

"Certainly, Mr Potter. Go ahead and don't worry. You're not the first student experimenting under my supervision, they were never hurt."

Harry nodded curtly and picked up a feather. He laid it down on a desk before him and raised his wand. He closed his mind reminding Hermione's and Ron's fight concerning the proper pronunciation of the spell. He couldn't see but hear them, their heated discussion cutting through the peaceful air. Then his memories changed, he smelled the Troll and heard Ron's clear _Wingardium leviosa_, his fear having been overcome by courage.

"Very good, Mr Potter!" exclaimed Professor Flitwick. With a start Harry opened his eyes, just in time to see his feather sink down again. It had floated right above his head. A huge smile stole its way on Harry's face. He looked at the tiny professor who seemed to swell with pride for his pupil.

"You closed your eyes," the teacher observed obviously wanting to solve the puzzle before him, "did it help you picture what you wanted to do?"

"No, Sir. It helped me forgetting my eyes. They are a distraction not an aid."

The older wizard looked positively perplexed: "What do you mean?"

He decided to explain from the beginning. Since the man had been so kind to shorten his lunch for an experiment, he deserved at least some of the facts: "Hermione sent me a book that is called _Mind's Magic_," he stopped, but Flitwick seemed to know what he was talking about, "I found it entirely unhelpful since it always talked about visualizing things which is something I seem incapable of. Maybe it has to do with my abhorrent eyesight, I wouldn't know. There was a short chapter talking about empathy and the fact certain people found it easier to use the feeling of a spell in order to use nonverbal magic. It is clear the author has no idea what he was writing about and I don't blame him. It would be like forcing me to write about visualizing a spell." He stopped, realizing he had started babbling. He cleared his throat, "I used sounds and feelings I heard and experienced while casting the spell or having seen it cast. I work entirely by memory, Sir. Problem is, I'll probably mess up new spells we hardly ever used safe for class, doing them nonverbally will be impossible, however the spells I had to use when distressed or happy…With a little practice I should become quite proficient at them."

Professor Flitwick had silently listened to his student's musings and he couldn't help but be impressed: "Interesting, Mr Potter. I'd like to hear more about this. How about you write me a list of the spells you think you can do nonverbally and we'll try and see? Best would be actually if you tried your theory in classes - as far as I can see there is no danger coming from this way of approaching nonverbal magic so there is no need to worry about this – and we meet again next week. I do not feel well to take away your lunchtime. How about Monday afternoon after your classes?"

Harry was a little taken aback. The man was so enthusiastic. He had simply just managed the same thing as his peers. In fact, he hadn't even been able to hold the spell after he had opened his eyes. However, he gratefully agreed.

When he stepped outside the classroom, his heart felt a little lighter and he was completely unaware of his tiny professor smiling after him, remembering a certain red-haired witch with emerald green eyes that had been so good at anything she touched when Charms was concerned.

The experienced professor had seen talent in the boy before, today however, except for the day of the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament, was the first time he realized that Harry Potter had inherited more than the characteristic eyes from the only favourite student he had ever had.

* * *

Hello, everbody!

This is only part of the Chapter _September at Hogwarts, _it just got a little long.

However I always liked school scenes in the book (which is why I was very disappointed by the sixth movie) and wanted to include them to my story. It'll never be half as well as JRR's chapters but I hope you liked it, nevertheless.

First of all: A big thank you for every single person that reviewed, you should have seen my smile.

Sorry for the batches and badges, but you must admit they do sound the same :-) and Mrs Weasley is a great cook so who knows *lol*

A special thanks for those who wrote long, detailled reviews:

Alex: I completely agree with you. Right now I'm dealing with Harry's feelings and guilt therefore. Snape will finally have to realize what his Occlumency lessons or his classes in general did to Harry and some of the other student's. The "not hurting children" topic will come up, actually in more ways than one. Snape will have to take responsibility, it'll just take him longer than Harry to realize his mistakes. Thank you very much for you review!

angelexe68: Thank you very much for the long review! I think Harry has to deal with even more insecurities than most 16-year-ols (megalomaniacs trying to kill you for several years kind of does that to you). Currently he's just caught up with other things than usual teenage angst.

Pellegrina: Thank you. The fact the third chapter was up so swiftly was because of your review. It really kept me going. I thought as long as one person is interested I'll continue the story, you and Cheated of Between were those people. As for Harry: I too believe him to be the "learning by doing" type. He's a person with strong emotions and this learning by doing study type is strongly connected to feelings. I added sounds for two reasons: It seemed to fit plus I don't learn as well with my eyes as I do with my ears. It just helps me to connect with Harry.

As always: Please, send me reviews!


	5. September at Hogwarts, Part Two

Chapter 4: September at Hogwarts (Part two)

Monday afternoon was NEWT Muggle Studies and since none of the three took this class, Ron, Hermione and Harry had the rest of the day off.

They decided to go outside, much to Ron's chagrin both Harry and Hermione had insisted on taking along books to study. Since Harry had become a hard-working study, the youngest male Weasley felt like the third wheel since the muggleborn witch seemed to pay much more attention to Harry. During the summer, when his best friend hadn't been allowed to leave his muggle relatives, he and Hermione had been at the Burrow together, sometimes talking for hours (Hermione's family was now under the Fidelius Charm with Mr Weasley as Secret Keeper since they couldn't be sure about what Voldemort planned next).

After school had started again Harry had always been around them and although Ron usually enjoyed his best friend's presence, these days it was incredibly annoying.

When Hermione started to praise Harry for having managed to levitate the feather, he felt jealousy boil inside him and decided to comment: "Yes, Hermione. Harry managed to do the same spell we did hours earlier. Amazing!" Sarcasm wasn't his strength, his words sounded much bitterer than he'd wanted them to.

Harry looked at him rather startled, Hermione on the other hand was angry: "What is wrong with you, Ron? You've been sulking since we left the castle."

"Oh, I am sorry if I interrupted you dear little study group. Maybe I should just leave you two alone."

Hermione was boiling with anger. Ron Weasley was such a stupid git! Didn't he see Harry's insecurities concerning nonverbal spells? Was he completely oblivious to their best friend's grief? Why was he acting like that?

"I don't know what went into you, Ron, but as long as you're talking like this, I doubt I want to talk to you!" With that she turned around towards the castle, her school robes billowing from the sudden movement. Ron did the same and turned towards Hagrid's home. Neither went more than a couple of steps when Harry's sharp "Stop it! The both of you!" caused them to halt in there steps.

They turned around to their friend. To their shock he seemed pained as if having one of those terrible headaches when his scar hurt.

"Harry?" They asked at the exact same time, both rather worried. The young wizard looked at Ron, his eyes blazing with anger and hurt: "You and I will have a talk. Right now!"

In moments like these the second-youngest Weasley realized how rarely Harry gave commands, not even in the DA lessons had he given orders, they had always seemed like strong suggestions at the very most. Unlike many people, when Harry voiced a command it wasn't shouted, it sounded sharp but rather quiet and deadly serious. Ron wouldn't dare to fight back now.

He nodded and followed Harry who had asked Hermione to wait for them (much more friendly but it sounded more than a simple suggestion would have). He was clearly furious. When they were out of earshot the Seeker of the Gryffindor team looked at his Captain, his voice didn't sound angry anymore, but very tired: "I don't know what to say, Ron. I know things changed over the summer," he hesitated; his eyes almost bore a haunted expression, "a lot of things changed over the summer," he sighed, "I have to study that much, Ron. I know we don't spend as much time as usual together having fun, but we both know that right now there are only few reasons for amusement and many for sorrow," the red-haired boy flinched a bit not wanting to be reminded of the reality of the war. Harry of course noticed that: "I want to close myself off of reality, too, but fact remains that we are at war and Voldemort knows whose side we're on. We should prepare ourselves, not lazing about as if nothing could ever happen to us. I did that last year," the bitterness in his voice caused Ron to look up. He'd never talked to Harry about what happened at the Ministry. For the first time he regretted not having encouraged his friend to speak like Hermione had. Harry continued: "Never again. I will work hard this year, much harder than the years before. Since nonverbal spells don't seem to come naturally to me, I'll have to study even more." A sad smile stole its way on his face: "I miss the fun and I hope we'll be having a lot of it in Quidditch and occasionally just the three or two of us."

Ron nodded, suddenly ashamed. He opened his mouth but received Harry's usual answer when he tried to apologize to him: "Forget it. It's fine." Then he was fixed by the slightly younger boy's gaze who added: "Hermione is like a sibling to me. She feels the same about me. You should know that."

With those words he returned to Hermione, when Ron saw her smile he figured Harry must have showed her with a gesture that everything was fine. He wasn't sure. He didn't really want to follow his friend back to the young woman, he first wanted to get the skin-colour of his ears and face in general under control. _Harry knew_! Was he that obvious? He hoped not.

Keeping his face firmly fixed on the ground, he slowly walked back to the group.

* * *

Tuesdays were the most exhausting days of this term's weeks since they contained a double lesson Defence Against the Dark Arts followed by a double lesson Potions and in the afternoon Transfiguration.

The day had already begun with a bang.

Harry had opened the doors to Defence class followed by the others when they realized the classroom was empty, all desks vanished. They were confused and some of them started to loudly wonder what was going on, Harry however saw something in the corners of his eyes, actually he felt it more than actually saw it. As subtly as possible he reached for his wand, then all of a sudden the scream of "Stupefy!" cut through the whispering of the students. Harry's "Protego" came just in time to shield them all. The former auror was knocked back by the force of the spell which gave Harry enough time to use the impediment jinx. But for a man with a wooden leg Professor Moody moved out of the way incredibly quickly. By that time however, most of the others had their wands out at the ready.

"Too late!" The man said in a terribly angry tone. Lavender Brown and Pavarti Patil took a step back hiding behind Harry and Ron who both were the nearest to Moody, their wands still out.

"If this had been the killing curse the all of you would be dead! Constant vigilance! This is not a vacation. You are here to learn to survive and the all of you would have failed. When a room is not exactly the way you remember it you pull your wands out! Always," he bellowed. Harry didn't even flinch, but looked the teacher in the eyes unmoved. He had reacted fast and realized it angered the other man a little that his surprise attack hadn't taken full effect. Moody had wanted to shock them all by stunning one of their peers. This irritated Harry, he didn't lower his wand: "What's the question someone once asked to find out if I was me?"

The older man's eyes widened in surprise but he answered: "What form your Patronus Charm takes."

Harry lowered his wand, but his eyes kept searching the creepy ones of his instructor. He wanted to make it clear to his teacher that he didn't approve of the way his peers were treated by the man.

When the former auror looked into the expressive emerald green eyes, he immediately put up his though not perfect but rather sophisticated Occlumency shields. The gaze unnerved him more than he wanted to admit. Albus had told him that Potter had talents, but the short meetings they had had during the last two summers had been completely unimpressive; the boy hadn't even seemed particularly smart.

Last week he had recognized the boy's vast knowledge concerning defence when he had used the first two hours to make a list of spells they had learnt for Defence. Hadn't Potter and his friends added their spells it would have been a rather short list. The practical during the other double lesson he had in a week (on Friday), had been impressive, too (he'd test their nonverbal skills this week).

Today however he saw a fire in the boy's eyes, fuelled by the desire to protect his friends that he hadn't seen before. Maybe, Albus had been right about the boy's potential.

With a flick of his wand he put everything back into place and told them all to sit down without breaking eye-contact to the Boy-who-Lived. The boy smiled softly, nodded and turned away, clearly indicating that he trusted the man behind him. Yes, maybe Potter had some talent after all.

He looked at his class: Not unlike NEWT-level Charms they had had to split up the classes since there had been too many students. Currently attending to his class were all the Gryffindors and Slytherins of the sixth year. Since there was no restriction to this class, everybody came.

The Slytherins had stridden after the Gryffindors and had backed out again after he had hurled the stunning spell which was no surprise to him. What had surprised him was that some of the Snakes had pointed their wands at him, too; Millicent Bulstrode had looked ready to strike, not unlike Hermione Granger beside her. Remembering the bright witch's expression he recognized he hadn't been the only one taken by surprise.

"Today, we will learn nonverbal spells," he said, although this time not screaming, his hoarse voice was heard in every corner of the classroom. A snicker passed Malfoy's lips. "Is there anything funny, Mr Malfoy?"

"No, Sir. I simply pity Potter," Nott, Goyle, Crabbe and Pansy Parkinson laughed. While he fixed his normal eye on the leader of this group of Slytherins he moved his Magical Eye towards the son of the Potters. The boy's shoulders had fallen, his expression he couldn't see for he faced the desk, but it was clear how embarrassed the boy was.

"Right, Potter? Only idiots are incapable of casting nonverbal spells," Malfoy's scathing tone caused Millicent to flinch, Neville looked quite defiant. Harry looked at him rather indifferently (after having managed to control his features. He was embarrassed by his troubles, but he wouldn't show that to the other boy. He decided not to say anything, either. It was wasted energy).

"Shut up, Malfoy!" To the Gryffindors' surprise, words didn't only leave Ron's mouth: At the same time Blaise Zabini had said "Shut up, Draco!". In the end it sounded like someone had said: "Shut up, Dralfoy!" It sounded hilarious. Safe for Malfoy's little group, everybody started to laugh.

"Enough!" Moody bellowed, he was tired of the childish behaviour of those teenagers. "We start with Expelliarmus. Pair up and get started!"

He saw Weasley and Potter pairing up as were Miss Granger and Longbottom. He furrowed his eyebrows when he heard the red-haired boy whispering tips concerning nonverbal magic into his friend's ear. The other young wizard seemed nervous. He didn't like this.

Harry was facing Ron, his nervousness grew. His best friend indicated that he'd start to try. At first the young Weasley's lips didn't move, then after five tries they did. When that didn't help either, Harry even heard the whisper of the disarming charm.

Ron didn't seem to be the only one. Most whispered the spell and Hermione who was one of the few who refused to cheat needed three or four tries until she could send loose the red charm but it was weak to do more than lift Neville's wand hand a little. In her sixth try she could do it well.

Moody didn't comment it with more than a nod.

Ron told Harry it was his turn. He nodded and tried to focus. Like with Flitwick he closed his eyes for a second.

The strongest memory of him using an Expelliarmus came to his mind: the night on the graveyard. He remembered his horror, his fear, heard the Death eater's laughter and Voldemort's voice telling him to bow to death as well as he remembered his own determination not to die at the man's feet. He felt energy rise inside of him, so strong it felt as if he was being electrocuted. With a start he lowered his wand and opened his eyes, breathing heavily.

Well, he could do that particular spell nonverbally. He knew that now, but he could have hurt Ron with the force he almost had put behind the spell. There were too many feelings tied to that charm in the particular memory.

"Harry, are you okay?" He heard his friend ask; he nodded silently and recollected himself. Again he raised his wand and closed his eyes remembering the first time he had seen the spell, heard the Slytherins' laughter, remembered his own amusement as well as he heard Snape's characteristic smooth and rather deep tone crying _"Expelliarmus!"_. A red jet of light emerged from his wand hitting Ron whose wand flew away out of his reach; Ron himself lost his balance and fell.

Harry was at his side only a second later: "Are you alright?"

"Blimey, Harry! That was brilliant."

'_I assume that is a yes,' _Harry thought sarcastically when he saw the delighted look on Ron's face. He wasn't the only one. Hermione ran over and embraced him: "That was a powerful disarming charm, almost as if you had said the spell. Wonderful, Harry!" His peers from Gryffindor congratulated as well which surprised him. Surely, it hadn't been that impressive? The disarming charm was the one spell he'd never struggled with, just like Ron with the levitation charm after their first Halloween at Hogwarts. It wasn't a big deal.

"Not bad, Potter. Five points to Gryffindor. Now back to work!" Harry turned his head so fast he almost hurt his neck in the process. Well, that was a complement he hadn't expected. The man was even firmer than his doppelganger Barty Crouch Jr. and they had hardly ever received points in their Defence class back then.

At the end of the lesson, not few of them had been able to disarm their partners. Neville and Millicent however struggled as much as ever.

Maybe it was because Harry now watched Millicent and Blaise more carefully, but it was clear that the two were as close as he was to Ron and Hermione: When Millicent had lowered her wand completely discouraged, Blaise had approached her, whispering some words that caused her to smile.

Harry made a mental note to take Millicent and Neville aside during DA lessons in order to explain them his way of doing nonverbal magic. It was worth to try.

* * *

Potions had been horrible. Harry (who by that time had written yet another letter that he'd never send the man) felt so ashamed he could barely hold the his teacher's gaze. The Potions Master of course felt his weakness and picked on the boy relentlessly.

Hadn't the young wizard studied as much as he had done during the summer he would've ended up with detention and about fifty points less in the Gryffindor hour-glass. Since he had studied much, he only lost twenty points in course of the lessons.

At lunch he was so subdued, Ron nearly got up and hexed the Potions Master, held back only by Hermione's horrified outburst and Harry's fast grip. His reasoning ('_I don't attend to his classes anymore, I can do to him whatever I want'_) didn't seem impress neither of his friends.

In the afternoon they had Transfiguration. It was a class the NEWT Gryffindors had together with the NEWT Hufflepuffs. Neville Longbottom was the only Gryffindor not attending the class.

Ron's thoughts were otherwise engaged: the try-outs after class.

"Katie said, she insisted on flying at the try-outs," whispered Ron in class, when Harry opened his mouth to say something, he said, "but the both of you can be sure of the position. You are the best Seeker the Gryffindor house had had in years and Katie Bell has been an amazing Chaser ever since we started at Hogwarts."

"Though I agree with you completely about the quality of my Quidditch team, Mr Weasley," a very stern voice was heard right behind him, "I would prefer if you for now could focus on my class." He gulped and looked at Harry slightly panicked, his friend's facial expression was apologetic. Obviously he hadn't wanted to say something about the try-outs after all.

Today they had to turn a pin-cushion into a hedgehog without saying the incantation. As most teachers she revised the principles of visualizing the desired result before casting the spell. In this class Harry could see the necessity since without having a clear picture in mind it was impossible to get what you wanted. Harry had started to wonder the last few days if that was the reason why he had always struggled with the class. Oh, his grade had always been adequate, he had even received an E in his Transfiguration OWL, but he had never felt completely comfortable in this class. It wasn't Professor McGonagall; she was an amazingly good although strict teacher. It really was the subject.

Before class, Harry had feverishly tried to find a way of visualizing that suited him, but it seemed useless. His thoughts turned to the Quidditch try-outs when they stood up to get their pin-cushion. Just when he wanted to shake his head to get rid of the thoughts he suddenly remembered one thing he always was able to see: the Snitch. The young wizard had never understood how he, as abhorrent as his eyesight was, should be able to spot something as small as the Snitch at great distances. He always saw the sparkling glimmer… He oriented himself on the bigger things however, other players, the hoops, sounds… Sounds! Although it would seem impossible, Harry could hear the snitch when it passed him. Just like he had known the _'birds_' were in fact keys because of the glittering he had heard when they had tried to keep Voldemort from stealing the Philosopher's Stone. He could hear the snitch even through the screaming crowd.

Thinking about it, he knew it was more than that (one cannot hear something like the snitch on the Quidditch pitch): His ability to spot things was tightly bound to his ability to perceive sounds as well as movement. Looking back, he noticed he had never raced after a simple glimmer unlike many of his rival Seekers, he always needed the movement or to be more precise the characteristic flying tactics of the Snitch for him to recognize it since otherwise there was always the chance of it being a binocular of a spectator.

When he saw the flying pattern, he saw the Snitch, but not the Snitch itself: He saw the glimmer in the sunlight, but more importantly in those moments when he was already on the way, he heard the fluttering wings, already felt it inside his hand, long before he'd ever touch it.

How this was supposed to help in Transfiguration, however he wasn't sure. When he looked at the pin-cushion with his wand raised, he reflected the sound of the hedgehog that had found its way into the Dursley's garden when Harry had been six years old. He remembered his aunt's screams when she had spotted the animal and his delight, for the first time seeing a wild animal that wasn't a bird or an occasional mouse. He remembered the little creature cowering together, obviously disturbed by the hysterics of Petunia Dursley.

"Interesting, Mr Potter. A very good start," He heard Professor McGonagall behind him. He startled and looked at his work. The pin-cushion wore now the face of a hedgehog and the needles were pointy spines but it was still a cushion, the material still being the one of a stuffed cushion and yet it seemed alive for it curled itself together not unlike the hedgehog had. He felt a little bad and softly told the frightened "pin-hog" to relax. He didn't want the enchanted being to suffer whether it lived or not. It seemed to work since it uncurled and lifted his head smelling the young wizard's hand.

Harry looked up at his professor whose eyebrows were raised (_Was there a glimmer of amusement on her face?_) and smiled a little embarrassed.

"Excellent, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor," the teacher said seeing her best student had turned her cushion into a perfect hedgehog. Her eyes resumed back to Harry: "That was a lot better than on practical lessons last Wednesday, Mr Potter. I congratulate you for your improvement." Then she hesitated: "You can… Well, either you make it a hedgehog by saying the incantation or try turning it back nonverbally."

With that she turned around.

In the end of the lesson, nobody but Hermione managed a full transfiguration nonverbally, however most had managed partial transfigurations, the funniest being Ron's headless walking hedgehog. Not even Professor McGonagall could explain why it had been able to walk.

Harry hadn't had the heart to turn his transfiguration back to a pin-cushion since it had looked up at him with a rather sad look, not unlike the hedgehog had looked when he had been brought away from the Dursley garden. Without really trying he had pointed his wand at the (animal? cushion?) "pin-hog" while thinking at the same time how he could manage to do better at nonverbal transfigurations.

When he brought the "pin-hog" back to Professor McGonagall she raised her wand to turn it back to what it was, but the look on the former pin-cushion's face almost seemed pleading and she told Potter a little irritated that they would try to make it a real hedgehog in the next lesson.

* * *

Only two hours later Quidditch try-outs started. A lot of people had arrived; Harry noticed he didn't know half of them. Among the ones he knew were (apart from his two best friends, of course) Ginny, Katie Bell, the Creevey brothers as well as Seamus and Dean who were only there to watch.

He asked Ginny if she wanted to try out for the Seeker position. She had only laughed and told him she'd try out as Chaser.

Some people wanted his position, however: Three second year students were there all trying out for being Seeker. Harry saw Ron opening his mouth to say something filled with indignation and interrupted by saying he was looking forward to see them play. One of the young ones looked at him with his eyebrows raised: "You shouldn't since you are in danger to lose the most prestigious position in Quidditch to me."

Harry didn't say anything but he had to contain his amusement: As arrogantly as the boy had said it, it still sounded rather cute. He'd go easy on them, still.

The good intention vanished when he heard the same boy whispering to the others: "See? He's not such a big guy. He only got the position because he's famous; there is no real talent in him at all."

There weren't many things Harry was proud of having done, but being a part of his House Team was one of the things. He'd defend the position with all his talent.

Seeker try-outs were in the end:

After catching every single golf ball Ron had thrown before it fell on the ground, he landed and got off his broom. He had been the only one catching all balls which meant he was the Seeker of this year's Gryffindor Team as well.

"It's unfair," the kid from earlier (Gordon Grimplank) shouted, "he's got the better broom than the rest of us."

"Oh stop it," a third year whose name was Natalie McDonald said sharply, "he beat you fairly and you know it."

The child got closer to Harry and looked at him defiantly: "You give me your broom; I'll catch every single ball."

The sixth year opened his mouth to tell him that he wouldn't give him his Firebolt while the other said something else: "The Boy-who-Lived," it sounded almost as mocking as Snape's usual scathing tone, "scared of a second-year… It's pathetic. You? Our saviour? If it weren't that sad, I'd laugh."

The words were ringing in Harry's ears. He knew the boy must have heard things like this at his home and merely repeated them. It still hurt.

He almost missed his fellows' outburst, everybody telling Ron they wouldn't be in the team if Gordon was in it. Ron himself ignored them moving a couple of menacing steps towards the kid.

Harry presented the boy his precious Firebolt: "Here. Try it out! It might be of material value, too, but this broom means more to me than its mere quality. Treat it with respect."

The boy grabbed the broom sneering, Harry didn't let go: "It's incredibly fast and although it turns with the slightest touch, it is very sensitive, too. Don't push it to full speed." He didn't want the boy to be hurt, but he wanted him to see that he was indeed a good Seeker. The other kid only nodded but his facial expression was still mocking.

Greedily the boy mounted the broom and started to fly. Harry shook his head in disbelieve when he saw the boy immediately accelerating to high speed. He gripped the handle of the boy's broom (Gordon had handed him his Cleansweep Seven before) ready to mount it if necessary.

Reluctantly Ron mounted his broom in order to throw the Golf balls. Gordon caught them all until Ron threw one hard directly towards the ground just like he had done with Harry earlier but had decided not to do so with the children (by Hermione's advice when he had told her where he'd throw them at the beginning of the try-outs), now he ready to make an exception with the arrogant boy.

The second year raced towards the ground at full speed. Harry saw the danger and let the golf ball flying up again with a banishing charm fearing the boy would hit the solid ground otherwise (he chose an angle that was rather well to handle if you slowed down a fraction). Gordon saw that and instead of taking back speed he let the Firebolt simply turn which caused the broom to break out. Harry was on the Cleansweep before anybody saw the problem arrive. He had experienced those moment's: As he had said the broom reacted sensitively to every touch and if one did a jerk with the hand in order to make a full turn just like you would do with any other broom cause the Firebolt to do a movement that reminded of the slithering of a snake.

He caught the boy just in time before he fell of his Firebolt, pulled him over on the Cleansweep and held his own broom firmly with his left hand.

He brought them both safely to the ground. The twelve year old child seemed to be in shock. Harry touched his shoulders softly and looked him in the eyes. He felt the boy's breath grow deeper and slower, his muscles relaxing.

"Are you alright? I was afraid you'd hit the ground if I didn't banish the ball back up. I am sorry." No matter what his intentions were he always managed to hurt people. It seemed to be his only ability in life. Now he even endangered children's lives to proof a point. He was disgusted with himself.

"I'd have…" The boy whispered. The other Gryffindors had by then come over, all with concerned looks.

"Yeah," Harry smiled a little, "you'd have caught it. I know." He wanted to suggest another try-out, this time him having a slower broom, when the boy looked at him very seriously: "No. I wouldn't have been able to stop the broom in time. At top-speed the broom is much harder to handle. I should have listened to you. For that I apologize." He bowed his head in shame.

"Hey," the sixth year said softly, "no need to be ashamed. You handled yourself very well. You should try out again. Next year or the year after that, I'd be surprised not to see you on the team."

The boy's smile was a little crooked: "In two years. I definitely am not going to try to rival you. I am glad, you know."

"About what?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

"That what the older ones say is true: Nobody beats you in the air, not in a fair fight. Maybe all the other things about you are true as well."

Harry felt a lump in throat, but decided to say something humorous: "I hope not. By last year's reports I'd have to be a maniac only concerned about his fame." The other boy snorted and nodded a little, all the others laughed. The air became less tense.

Ron took Harry aside wanting to discuss the try-outs. In the end they decided: Seeker would be Harry; Ron played Keeper; Chasers were Ginny, Natalie McDonald and Katie Bell, of course; Beaters were the Creevey brothers.

That evening, Harry was so exhausted he couldn't really add anything to his shields, could only use the feeling of finally mounting a broom again to strengthen the protection he already had. He was met with a terrible night of Voldemort and some Death Eaters torturing an auror in order to get information about the current dealings of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. The man had been so brave. Harry had approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder (or better where his hand would have landed if he really were there in person) telling him he would hold the man in high esteem. The man had relaxed and started to mock Harry's mortal enemy. He had died soon after.

Harry woke up at three in the morning using the rest of the time till breakfast to do homework and finish his last preparations for DA this evening at 6.

At breakfast a surprise arrived with the morning post.

They were just reading about the missing auror Piotr Karowski (Harry knew he was dead, but he couldn't bare it to point out that fact), when they heard a squeak from the Slytherin table. Harry saw Cara jumping up in delight. She had a package in her hands and with her eyes she searched the Great Hall until spotting him. She ran across the hall, the package firmly pressed against her chest.

"Good morning, Harry," she said, a delighted smile on her face, her eyes gleaming in delight.

"Hey, Cara! What's up?" he said friendly with a broad smile.

"My parents answered. May I open the parcel with you?" She looked up at him shyly. He was taken aback. Why would she want to do that? He didn't show his confusion and told her to sit down indicating the others make space. The kid immediately took her seat and started to open her parcel: In it was a letter that seemed rather thick as if her parents had written several sheets of parchment, cookies and wrapped in colourful paper was a small, beautifully crafted locket that contained a picture of Cara herself, an even younger girl and her parents.

The girl's happiness made Harry feel happier than he thought he ever could these days. She explained to him that the other girl was her sister Sophie (Sophia) and that the cookies were her favourite ones. She told him how she had sent the letter on Saturday afternoon and how she hadn't felt as lonely ever since. Harry was amazed how a child could put so many words together without breathing but the girl was so charming he couldn't help but smile rather than be annoyed.

"Miss Zantura," a silky voice said behind them, "as nice as it is that you've finally heard of your family I must remind you of your manners." Harry's head turned around sharply looking directly into the tunnel-like black eyes of Professor Snape. A sudden wave of protectiveness overcame him. He stood up and although still being shorter than his teacher, he didn't quite look as small anymore.

"I am sorry, Professor Snape. I am afraid this is my fault for I've asked her to show me what her parents would send her." It was a blatant lie, but he didn't want the girl to be under the Potions Master's wrath since the man was her Head of House above all else. Cara looked at him a little surprised which was of course noticed by the other man.

"Miss Zantura, please go back to your table," he simply said without commenting anything else. He himself turned back to the teacher's table. With a smile and still a little surprised she said: "Bye! Have a nice day!" The girl left.

* * *

When Professor Flitwick saw Mr Potter come in with a broad smile and a silent nod, he regretted having planned a theoretical lesson for the day. He'd have to look forward to next week.

* * *

For the sixth time Harry was skimming through his notes for DA lessons. He was nervous. This would be the first time he'd be under the strict surveillance of a teacher (Professor McGonagall of all people) and although already expecting to be replaced by a real instructor, he couldn't help but worry about the impression they'd make on his Head of House.

Ron, Hermione and he waited in front of the Charms classroom for Millicent to arrive. Harry was not surprised to see that the one she took along was Blaise Zabini. The tall and rather muscular young wizard looked at them a little suspiciously; in fact he wore the same look as Ron. Millicent on the other hand smiled at Harry, her expression towards the others was much less friendly though not hostile.

Hermione looked rather curious, obviously not having forgotten what had happened in Professor Moody's classroom, however she didn't seem to have forgotten her second year either.

"Let's go," Harry said trying to avoid any sort of confrontation between Blaise and Ron.

Professor McGonagall waited for them only a few corners away from the Room of Requirement.

When they looked at the blank wall, Blaise looked at Harry with his eyebrows raised: "Erm, are you sure we are at the right place?"

Harry didn't take offense, he just smiled. Thinking about what he wanted he walked in front of the blank wall three times back and forth. A door appeared. The two Slytherins gasped a little.

"After you," Harry said.

The room didn't look as it had last year. There was just a large table with thirty chairs. Harry went over and motioned them to sit down.

"Harry?" Hermione looked at him a little confused.

"The training room is over there," he answered the unspoken question gesturing at a door, "first there are some things I need to explain."

The door opened and Luna, Neville, Ginny as well as every other Gryffindor who was in the DA (Katie, Seamus, Dean, the Creevey brothers, Lavender and Pavarti) entered. With a smile he told them to sit down as well.

The Hufflepuffs came soon afrter: Justin, Hannah, Susan, Eloise, Ernie followed by Zacharias Smith (which surprised Harry). He didn't look happy, but at least he was here.

A little later Terry Boot and Padma Patil came.

All of them seemed surprised to see the Gryffindor's Head of House and the two Slytherins.

At six, Cho Chang, Marietta and Michael Corner hadn't arrived yet. Harry was unsure what to feel about that. He no longer had a crush on Cho; He still wished they had parted on friendlier terms last year.

He stood up: "Good evening! Thank you all for coming. At first, let me explain some things: Professor McGonagall is here because, although Professor Dumbledore allowed us to carry on with the DA, it was decided that it'll continue solely under teacher's surveillance," a few opened their mouths to speak and Harry was glad of having practiced the speech before the lesson, "I myself support the idea," every single one closed their mouths again, "since defence is dangerous and I understand the staff's need to make sure that everything's alright. It is also possible that this will be the last DA lesson taught by me." At this, all looked up. To his surprise he didn't see relief on their faces, only shock, disappointment and in his best friends' case who already knew of the possibility, resignation. Zacharias Smith was the only one to show interest. "Professor McGonagall will decide about this in the end of the lesson."

"This group is not a rebellious secret organisation anymore. It is a registered club and I am open to people who want to join it. However, since we are at war," some of them flinched as if having forgotten what happened outside of Hogwarts, "I still want you to be careful and invite only people you trust." Then he looked towards Millicent and Blaise: "As undoubtedly all of you saw, I invited Millicent Bulstrode and Blaise Zabini. They attend their sixth year and belong to the Slytherin house. Millicent I invited, because I know she is trustworthy, so does Neville. Blaise was invited because Millicent trusts him. However, those who don't want them here, please say so at once. Everybody in favour of them joining the DA raise their hands." Although some hesitated, in the end more than two third of the hands were up.

"Thank you." Then he looked at them very seriously: "You will treat them with the same respect I expect you to treat each other. If you treat them unfairly or try to cut them out because of them being in the house they are, I will not hesitate to have you barred from the DA. From the two new members I simply expect the same courtesy." The Slytherins nodded."

"Well, now," Harry clapped his hands, "the training room looks a little bit differently than last year, I know. I just wanted to finish the formalities first. If you will follow me, please. The training room is right behind this door."

It took a lot until Minerva McGonagall was filled with almost childish curiosity, but ever since Potter had started to talk, she felt herself becoming more and more interested. The young man had a way of making other people listen to him without showing authority. Little did she know that this would be a lesson to remember.

She entered what her pupil had called a training room. However, it wasn't. They were outdoors: There was a field with cut grass, a forest not being a hundred yards from them. Some mattresses and cushions were ready next to the still existent door (probably for stunning practices). Right beside it was a chair that seemed rather comfy. Harry told her that this was hers. She however decided to stand.

"Welcome. I know it looks different than last year, but you'll see that everything has its purpose. Don't worry about inevitable falling, the mattresses are over there." The others laughed a little.

"Today we'll be starting with a little recall of what we learnt last year, afterwards we'll practice. Since in sixth year we have nonverbal spells I'm sure those of the appropriate age will be able to practice this in a few weeks time, not today, though. After practice I thought of a more tactical approach. You'll see what I mean. For now, what do you remember of last year?"

Professor McGonagall heard them saying the spells they'd learnt and was astonished to say the least. She had expected disarming charms and shields, but what she definitely hadn't expected was the Patronus Charm that most of the DA was now able to cast with a more or less steady corporal form. What truly caused her to wonder was Potter's knowledge of each person's weaknesses and strengths. A knowledge he used admirably: While telling Dean Thomas that his disarming charm still needed work, he said at the same time that his impediment jinxes were incredibly strong. Ginny Weasley was even allowed to demonstrate her Reducto-Charm (after Mr Zabini had asked her to).

After about twenty minutes of repeating, Potter said: "As you can see, there is stuff we still have to improve in," the experienced teacher saw Zacharias Smith glaring at Potter, "and there is still a lot we have to learn. However, new spells will be studied next week. Today we repeat the spells from last year. Let's practice."

Twelve pairs were formed, unsurprisingly Miss Bulstrode and Mr Zabini stood together. Potter went over to them and whispered something. Neither of them looked happy, but in the end Miss Lovegood was paired up with Mr Zabini while Miss Bulstrode and Mr Longbottom trained together. A sensible choice, she figured when she saw Mr Longbottom talking to Miss Bulstrode about disarming and stunning while Mr Zabini didn't seem to be able to judge his peculiar though incredibly smart partner and therefore was careful but polite. It took Professor McGonagall only ten more minutes to recognize that Mr Potter's choice of partners had not only been sensible but almost brilliant.

Miss Bulstrode who was a rather shy person behind her gruff façade seemed to glow around the equally timid boy (though the Transfiguration teacher had to admit that he was much more confident in Potter's lessons). At the end of the practical, Potter's gentle but firm suggestions would have morphed her rather weak shield into a strong wall that didn't allow Mr Longbottom's strongest Furnunculus charm to cut through.

Potter's other pairing choice almost seemed smarter: At first Mr Zabini had been bewildered by Miss Lovegood's way to be and her way of saying the truth that would make her look so incredibly vulnerable. In the end however, Professor McGonagall was sure that the teasing of Miss Lovegood, although having subsided ever since she was known to belong to Harry Potter's circle, would now be reduced to minimum since although Mr Zabini wasn't the confrontational type of person didn't mean he couldn't start an argument when necessary. Yes, Miss Lovegood under Potter's and Mr Zabini's protection would definitely be safe.

Seeing Potter teach was an extraordinary experience. His way of finding everybody's weaknesses without belittling them about it was unique.

"Colin, Dennis?" She heard him. The two smaller boys looked up to him (literally and figuratively), "you both had problems with disarming and stunning today. You usually do them with ease. Is there a problem?"

The younger Creevey turned red and started mumbling, Potter laid a hand on his shoulder: "Hey, no need to apologize. Is there a problem?"

She heard the boy telling Harry that while hitting one of the bludgers in the try-outs the day before, he had hurt his hand and some of the wand movements now hurt him.

Potter looked immediately rather worried and told Dennis Creevey to show his arm. Then very softly he rather supported the arm with his left hand than held it and waved his wand over the arm saying "monstrat fractura", a diagnostic spell that would make the arm glow yellow if there was a broken bone. A green glow was seen and Potter told the young boy that his arm wasn't broken. However, since contusions were possible he asked him to visit Madame Pomfrey immediately after the DA meeting and suggested not to do any more spells until the mediwitch said it was alright. Then Potter lifted his wand again and said "Ferula et Analgesia".

Professor McGonagall was incapable of hiding her astonishment, especially when she saw the spells work. Bandages wrapped around the young Gryffindor's arm who told Harry excitedly that the pain was gone. The sixteen-year-old explained that the spell would only work temporarily.

"That was amazing," Dean Thomas exclaimed, "are you going to show us that?"

"I intended on including healing charms in one of the next lessons. We'll see. Back to work. Colin, you can work with me for now." Uncontained pride about that fact on the face of the fifth year caused the one year older young wizard to blush a little. They carried on with the training expect for Dennis Creevey who seemed terribly disappointed. Potter noticed that and went over (The thirteen-year-old's older brother was training with Eloise Midgen and Ginny Weasley).

He sat down next to the sulking kid and said: "I know it's annoying to watch and not being able to try it yourself. However, the good thing with you watching is that there is two pair of eyes observing. Why don't you help me? You'll probably see other things to improve than I do."

The Creevey boy looked as if he would cry out of joy. Immediately he stood up and started walking between the pairs, clearly copying Potter's way of observation.

"Is that really necessary?" She heard Zacharias Smith asking in a scathing tone, "he only a third years, I will have my OWLs this year."

Harry looked rather untouched by the objection. He smiled a little: "Scared of a thirteen year old recognizing your mistakes, Zacharias? I know I'd be and I know Dennis has got a great eye for weaknesses in a shield."

Professor McGonagall knew this was true. She had seen the tickling hex of Dennis Creevey cut through the _Protego_-shield of Colin. It amazed her that Potter had seen that for he had been demonstrating Hannah Abbott how to control the stunning spell since hers always broke out, nearly hitting the Patil sisters who were training behind her partner Susan Bones without touching the one Hannah had been aiming at. What really astounded her was that he'd just managed to say something that would both qualify his young helper and at the same time reminding Mr Smith of his own troubles with certain spells. Still, his tone hadn't been mocking and by including himself he had demonstrated that.

They trained until eight o'clock. Then Potter called them all together and motioned them to sit on the ground. He made himself comfortable.

"That was great work. The all of you still remember quite a lot from last year, I think we should be able to include new spells next week," he clapped his hands and looked around, "well, I told you at the beginning we would have some tactical training in the end. And this is why the training room looks like this. Can anybody tell me why?"

"Because it is unlikely to be attacked in a classroom," Longbottom answered. The leader of the DA nodded.

"Another question: What do Voldemort's lair and Hogwarts have in common?" This was so unexpected even Miss Granger flinched. Everybody was bewildered.

The young man had the audacity to smile a little: "I am sorry; I didn't mean to frighten you." For a moment there was silence, Professor McGonagall saw Miss Granger thinking feverishly, probably reflecting _Hogwarts, A History_.

"Anti-Apparation wards," Potter said, "_He_ conjures them whenever he changes location. It is one of the first spells he casts. The wards are special: Anybody who carries the Dark Mark is enabled to apparate at their Master's side. Ever since what happened at the graveyard in my forth year," he hesitated a moment, clearly not wanting to reflect that terrible evening, "I am pretty sure, He now creates a ward that disables any kid of portkey to leave the place. What does that mean?"

"Once you're there, you won't be able to get out magically," Mr Zabini said. Again the DA instructor nodded.

"Exactly, so don't try it. However, what I want you to remember that although this is a fact, it doesn't mean you are already dead when appearing at _his _lair. _He_ doesn't expect people to really fight back. This is how you, being mere schoolchildren to _him_, are able to surprise him."

"What about you," said Smith rather aggressively, obviously annoyed. The one spoken to, looked at him patiently: "Voldemort knows I will fight back. I won't be able to surprise him anymore."

There was silence for a moment. Potter checked his watch: "I think it is time. I am sorry for the too short tactical part; I promise there will be more time for it next time. That is…" He was silent all of a sudden and looked at Professor McGonagall.

"Well," she said, realizing rather surprised that her voice sounded a bit hoarse after not having used it for two hours, "I see no reason at all why the DA lessons should come to a stop."

A smile covered her pupil's face while all the others cheered, then Potter was serious again: "Who do you suggest as an instructor, Professor?"

This boy would be the one to destroy her image as an unyielding, strict teacher. It was asked so innocently she nearly took the boy into her arms: "I would be uncomfortable if it'd be anybody else but you."

The smile came back and the heart-felt (his cheeks turned red) "thank you" caused her to smile slightly in return.

Seeing her pupil wouldn't ask his friends, she asked: "Is everybody in favour of this?"

Even Zacharias Smith had said "yes" though with less enthusiasm than the others.

* * *

Thank you sooooo much for your reviews! They encourage me to continue writing.

Well, this is the second part of Chapter 4. Again it got a little long :-)

There will be a third one, probably shorter.

I am thinking about posting it together with the fifth chapter.

I hope, you'll enjoy this part of the chapter as well.

Please read and review!


	6. September at Hogwarts, Part Three

**Chapter 4: September at Hogwarts, Part Three**

On Thursday morning there were no classes for Harry, but he didn't think about sleeping in (though by now he considered sleeping in when he woke up at six o'clock). More determined than ever to do well he stood up at four. He created a plan that contained the goals he had for this term's DA lessons and prepared for the lesson next week.

He researched, looked things up and wrote ideas down. He was so engrossed in his studies he flinched when Hermione wished him a good morning standing right behind him. Completely startled he looked at his watch: It was 6.30.

For two and a half hours he had worked without pausing once and it had been fun. A wave of sadness and guilt overcame him: This wasn't supposed to be fun! He wasn't supposed to enjoy anything anymore; he was supposed to work hard. He had to make amends for what happened to Sirius…

He hadn't thought of his godfather for a while. Being at school had made him forget. All of a sudden he was deeply ashamed of himself.

Of course, his emotional state didn't go unnoticed by his bright friend. She walked over to him and said: "I am not going to ask how you are since I know your standard answer of being fine. Well, you are not, I can see that. You looked so relaxed while studying a minute earlier. What are you thinking about?"

"I relaxed."

His answer confused Hermione: "Yes, I know. I saw…" Realization dawned. He had seen this look on Hermione's face before, the moment when every piece of the puzzle came into place. Normally she looked pleased after those moments. Today she seemed terribly sad.

"Harry," the tone of her voice was soft, "of course, you can… Harry, Sirius wouldn't have wanted you to grief forever. Your happiness meant everything to him. He was such a joyful person; he would have wanted you to enjoy life."

Harry felt tears wallowing up inside, he knew they even appeared in his eyes, but he wouldn't let them fall. Yes, Sirius had been a joyful man, someone who had loved to laugh, Harry had just forgotten that. Every time he remembered Sirius these days, he saw him at Grimmauld Place where he had been locked up and a little embittered. After having been in prison for twelve years, Harry knew this must have been terrible for the man. When Hermione remembered him of his godfather's real character he recalled his laugh that sounded like a bark, he remembered of the man that had travelled back North giving up safety in order to help him, recalled the man who had supported him while he had to tell of his night at the graveyard, he remembered his delight when realizing he could write to somebody for advice after having woken up from a nightmare. He closed his eyes for a second trying to take everything in and never letting go. He thanked Hermione hoarsely who smiled in response.

She left for her dormitory in order to get her schoolbag for Arithmency without realizing how much her words would torture her friend. Yes, she had wanted to bring comfort and managed to do that as well, but that terrible feeling of loss came back to Harry nearly swallowing him. He put his face in his hands desperately trying not to cry. Along with loss, guilt came back with a force he hadn't thought possible since that sentiment had been inside him all the time. It was so intense he felt ill. Because of him the world would never experience Sirius' joyful demeanour again, because of him, Sirius never tasted freedom after his time in Azkaban…

He heard others coming down from their dormitories and instantly wanted to recollect himself. Within seconds he could draw the emotional strength he needed from his _shields_, the others would never suspect how close he had come to break.

It surprised him a little how much comfort he found within himself when he recalled his new-found way of occluding. The shields really were like a Patronus charm inside of him. Nevertheless, one could only do so much for their own comfort. '_Good'_, he thought sternly with himself, _'for guilt and sorrow is what you deserve.'_

He spent the rest of the morning doing homework, studying and writing that list of spells Professor Flitwick had told him to do.

In the afternoon, they had Potions. At the end of the lesson he seriously thought about quitting the class. Professor Snape had always been unfair with Harry and some others like Neville; these days however, he seemed determined to not only make the class miserable but simply unbearable. He criticized even things like the quality of his pewter cauldron ("_I see. In his whole life, famous Harry Potter has never been instructed to properly clean a cauldron." – "Potter, considering the amount of money that undoubtedly lays inside your vault at Gringotts, it is highly distasteful of you to bring a cauldron of so little quality to my class."_). He was asked to correct the way he had sliced his daisy roots so many times, he ran out of ingredients. While brewing he felt the man watching him looking for any kind of mistake he made which of course caused him to promptly put in the acid stomach of the Zrugani-frog before taking the cauldron off the fire nearly causing it to explode. At least after having realized his mistake he had thought in time to add the basic saliva of a small ruminant. However by doing that although having avoided the explosion, he had ruined the potion and lost twenty points to Gryffindor (_"For being idiotic enough to add an ingredient that wasn't one the list."_).

He'd still apologize (if he were able to put it into words) since he knew that the man's opinion of him was why he was treated like this in class. Maybe, when the man recognized the sincerity of his apology he'd back down a little.

The familiar, nasty little voice returned: "_You know, I thought it was the other way around: You proof your sincerity by taking an effort in class. I doubt he recognized your attempt."_

"_Shut up_," he thought back.

In the evening Harry could go fly again. It amazed him every year how he managed to stay off a broom for two months during the summer; he had almost been unable to wait for two days.

When they went back after a rather successful training, Harry felt a little more relaxed and his shields were strong that night.

He was spared from reality and his nightmares had been rather silent. He sighed in happiness and relief when he looked at his clock and saw it was 5.30. That day would be a good day.

Friday was Defence Against the Dark Arts and Herbology in the morning, afternoon was off.

In Defence they were told that from now on they would have nonverbal spells on Tuesdays and new spells as well as theory on Fridays.

* * *

Looking back to his first month back at Hogwarts, Harry realized he had fallen into a certain routine:

Every week there was the DA lesson on Wednesday and the Quidditch training on Thursday he was looking for.

He had started to make progress at nonverbal magic and as he had told Professor Flitwick the spells that were tied to emotional memories he learnt to perform nonverbally with ease while with others he struggled. Like this, his performance in Charms depended solely on the spell and Transfiguration depended solely on what to transform (his pinhog had finally become a hedgehog over the next two lessons, the pigeon he had been supposed to transform into a tea-pot stubbornly remained a pigeon while for some reason (even before Hermione) he had been able to turn his table into a big, black dog that looked so much like Snuffles he had nearly started to cry in class). In Defence he excelled, his performance had always been good, but ever since they had started with nonverbal spells, Harry demonstrated his superiority in that subject (he still didn't understand why the others (except for Malfoy and his friends) wanted him show the spell before they tried themselves).

A sad routine had become his performance in Potions as well: Snape made him nervous (up until today he had written seven letters none of which he thought to be good enough to give the man) and his carefully made papers were deemed barely acceptable. However, this time he wouldn't give up and researched every essay topic thoroughly.

Draco Malfoy and his closest friends still harassed Harry who ignored them unless on the times his friends were assaulted. He was always careful around them since he knew that they fed their parents with information about him (him being gifted at nonverbal defence spells was told right on Saturday's weekly Death Eater meeting; Information that caused the messenger (Mr Malfoy) to be put under the Cruciatus curse for ten seconds by their master).

Voldemort met daily with his followers, mostly working at night, sometimes at daylight. Then, Harry would (thankfully) find about it either the next day with the Daily Prophet, through the school's grapevine or at night by Voldemort who told his Death Eaters. The terrible thing was that Snape wasn't there anymore, at least not every night and when he was there, Harry couldn't bring himself to seek comfort in the man's stoic presence since he didn't want to invade the man's privacy again.

He'd approximately wake up between three and half-past four. Rarely did he sleep until five or 5.30. After being awake, he went down to the Common Room and started studying, preparing, whatever had to be done. His theoretical knowledge was, though never as well as Hermione's, rather sophisticated and he generally gained more points in other classes than he lost in Potions.

Millicent and Blaise were now appreciated and well accepted members of the DA, even Ron had come to like Blaise's quiet but very protective (where Millicent or Luna were concerned) character. Millicent had apologized to Hermione for what happened in their second year. Ever since, Hermione seemed to have found a female friend that was in her year and with whom she could talk about Arithmency (they had always avoided each other in class till that day).

With a smile Harry remembered the lesson he had told the DA members (who were in their sixth year) about different ways of approaching nonverbal spells. Professor Flitwick had been the supervisor, it was the only time the teacher had overseen the DA and Harry was still grateful about that since the tiny wizard had supported him telling the others that Mr Potter's fast improvement had been because he had looked at nonverbal spells and magic in general differently than most (even the memory still made him blush).

Hermione and Ron had already heard a little bit about Harry's theories but until that DA lesson not even they had known much. Since both of them were visual people it wouldn't change their way of doing magic, anyway. Eloise Midgen however who focused more on sounds than pictures found his explanations extremely helpful: In the end she could demonstrate nonverbally a rather strong hover charm by lifting every single sixth year Hufflepuff (the others confirmed that hover charms were Eloise's specialty). Most of the others had been rather satisfied with visualizing.

Millicent however immediately responded to his suggestions and though she'd have to practice, Harry knew she'd never struggle as much as she had before.

Neville had as many problems as ever until Harry remembered one of his strongest shields, something he had used more subconsciously than sounds and feelings. He tried a different approach: "Neville, do you remember Mimbulus mimbletonia?" He watched his friend very carefully and unsurprisingly saw his nose move a little as if taking in a smell.

"Yes, of course."

"Can you tell me what it was like? I have my problems recalling the plant." His way of asking the question directed the conversation directly where he had wanted it at the beginning. Neville explained what the plant smelled like for nearly a minute while explaining what it had looked like within three sentences.

Neville responded to smells. Ever since Harry explained that to Neville, the boy had improved a lot in nonverbal spells. The instructor of the DA then realized how much better his friend could have been if just one person had told him what he was good at. He wondered why nobody had seen this when his friend's best and worst subjects both included the sense of smell.

That day, Neville even managed a perfect though verbal transfiguration when he turned Luna's hairclip into a smelling rose.

Professor Flitwick told his pupil to do the same thing next week when his Head of House would be watching again… Professor McGonagall had given twenty points to Gryffindor for the rather simple transfiguration and another ten to Harry, when Neville had insisted that this was all thanks to the young wizard with the famous lightning scar. For the rest of the lesson nobody really wanted to look at the Head of Gryffindor again since seeing her smile so openly had been rather disconcerting.

When thinking of the teachers, he recalled the tiny Charms professor. He remembered their meeting on the third Monday of the term. He liked thinking about that, too:

"_Let me see, Mr Potter," Professor Flitwick said taking the parchment__ which contained the list of spells, skimming it. He's eyes went wide. _

"_Patronus Charm? Mr Potter maybe I didn't make myself clear. I was talking about nonverbal spells not the spells you do well by saying the incantation."_

"_I know, Sir. I am quite sure about being able to cast a Patronus without saying the words." He still wasn't sure why he was so confident about it, but after having created his shields he'd just known he wouldn't struggle with the Patronus again._

"_Go ahead, then," curiosity was visible on the Professor's face._

_Harry didn't focus on a memory; he simply centred his shields and thought the incantation. _

_A strong, corporal deer jumped out of the wand placing himself protectively in front of Harry. _

_Professor Flitwick nearly fell over and congratulated the boy on his powerful charm. Harry blushed._

Ever since they still met every Monday at 12.30 though those meetings were less about Harry's struggles with nonverbal spells, but occasionally rather smart discussions about magic. More often than that Professor Flitwick simply wanted to know more about how Harry "imaged" the spells, so he could help those future pupils that would struggle with nonverbal magic. Harry rather enjoyed those talks, but he never opened up to the other man, they simply weren't close enough. He never told him about his motivation in the first place, never told him what he saw every night and never told him of his shields, some of his theories, yes, but never deeper than that. He didn't feel comfortable.

That wasn't Professor Flitwick's fault. Hermione and Ron didn't know about the dreams/visions either and they knew nothing about the Prophecy. Harry simply didn't have the heart to tell them. The latter he tried to ignore as well as he could himself. He didn't want to imagine their faces once they found out about it all.

They were still close and Harry knew without them he'd have already broken down by now, but he didn't know what to say to them. Besides, their own troubles were much more important: They were still dancing around each other but they got closer day by day. Harry softly pushed them in each other's direction since they deserved each other, even if that meant to lose them in the process.

They were made for each other while he, Harry, deserved nothing more than to be alone for the rest of his life since the people around him had a tendency to get hurt.

* * *

So, finally!

The chapter is written. I hope you enjoyed "September at Hogwarts". I've never intended to make it that long but in order to explain things, it had been necessary.

Next chapter is called: _Letters_

(I am pretty sure you already know what that means, however I hope I'll be able to surprise you a little.)

Thanks for all those who reviewed, especially those who do so since the beginning.

I know this part of the chapter is short, but I'd really like to know what you think.

What interests me is for example if you like the characters like Millicent and Blaise who actually belong to the Potter-verse, but who never had an important role in the books.

By the way concerning reviews: For those who read but don't want to write a review in English: My first language is German, so that shouldn't be a problem for me to understand. I speak a little French and a little Italian and although my answers wouldn't be in those languages I should be able to understand the reviews (if not I do have great dictionaries ;-)).

My updates will come a little irregularly next week since my exams are coming up, but I hope to post "Letters" before that.


	7. Letters

**Chapter 5: Letters**

It was Tuesday, October 1st and Professor Snape sat at his desk grading papers. His thoughts were engaged elsewhere, however.

The Dark Lord kept secrets from his Death Eaters, he could feel it. The powerful dark wizard though never telling them all of his plans had been unusually cryptic in his speeches the last few meetings at Saturday. It worried him, at first he even feared his cover had blown until Lucius Malfoy had come to him asking if the Dark Lord had been more open towards him personally.

It wasn't good. The Dark Lord planned something and it seemed to be even more important than the Prophecy since he didn't even tell his most faithful followers. Not as if "faithful" meant he trusted them, especially after the fiasco at the Ministry. He had forgiven none of the people involved to that mission and since there had been every person he had considered among his most loyal servants (for having been in Azkaban) no one was in his good graces these days. He had never forgiven who had denied their loyalties fifteen years ago. The one closest to be in good graces with the Dark Lord was Snape himself since he had been able to convince the man of having kept his post at Hogwarts in order to spy on Albus Dumbledore as he had been ordered to. But the Potions Master knew as little as the others. Whatever the Dark Lord planned, it was important.

Having finished grading the first year papers (the childish writing of eleven-year-olds he could correct in his sleep having read similar essays a thousand times before) he laid them away and started to look at the essays of his NEWT class. Today they were no mere essays but they were the survey of the _Project_.

Two weeks ago he had introduced his sixth year NEWTs to this concept: Every NEWT Potions student was allowed to pursue a question or thesis in the course of their sixth year. At the end of the year they had to present their project both in form of a scientific paper and a potion or practical demonstration (that solely depended on the project). They would have time to work on it every Tuesday while on Thursdays they studied NEWT level Potions. At the beginning of every month they were to deliver him a paper that told him how far they were in their assignment so he could help them if necessary either by giving them hints for research or giving them a hand in brewing. For today they had had to write what their project was about, so he could judge whether this was possible or not.

He usually looked forward to these assignments for it was always interesting to see how his more gifted students were allowed to work independently with him solely for supervision. However, Potter's presence in class had ruined that.

He could still remember James Potter who had manipulated his independent project in Professor Slughorn's NEWT class (back then, there had been no such assignment, but he had asked for it. Having been the best potions student in years, his Professor and Head of House had of course been delighted with his idea and pursued it). During his demonstration at the end of the year Potter had replaced his Zrugani-frog legs with the one of the common tree-frog called _Hyla arborea_ that looked remarkably alike, but only the Zrugani had the desired effect. He had noticed the problem three ingredients later when his potions had been supposed to look red and smell like the air after a warm summer rain. On the top of that, his paper together with all his notes somehow had disappeared the evening before they had been supposed to hand it in (he hadn't slept that night desperately trying to redo everything). He had received his only 'Acceptable' in potions that year. He'd never forget Potter's gleeful grin.

After that day he had double-checked every single ingredient he used in class and he did receive his well-deserved Outstanding in the final exams, but potions class had never been relaxing again. Especially the fact he had seen _her_ in every lesson while _she_ had refused to even look at him. It had almost been unbearable. Yes, his NEWT Potions class had been torture and a few years after he had started to work as a teacher he spent a fair amount of time trying to make this class memorable for every future brewer by letting them research what they were interested in and at the same time guiding them so they wouldn't fail.

With Potter in class, however, he had to be attentive all the time. The brat was just as vindictive as his father and seeing the rivalry between Mr Malfoy and Potter it was clear who would be the subject of the brat's manipulations.

Suppressing a sigh he skimmed through the eight projects of his potions students (Potter's paper he had stocked as far away as possible):

_Polyjuice Potion – What changes to be made for transformation into animals and possible similarities to Animagi_ by Hermione Granger (He didn't even need to read the name. One of the most complicated questions possible had to come from the insufferable know-it-all. It wasn't as if the young witch lacked in the intelligence to pursue her project, but he was afraid that in the end he'd receive a paper that would list the origin and every change that had been made to the Polyjuice Potion in order to receive the desired result but no real experiment of Miss Granger herself. She was extraordinarily bright and rather gifted in potions but to become a real brewer she yet had to learn to work by instinct. It was inevitable in research; one simply had to work by the principle of trial and error. He'd have to make that clear to her.)

_Various Uses of Mandrake and its Forms of Preparation _by Eloise Midgen (That project didn't surprise him, either. Of course the only Hufflepuff in his class would choose a plant as the centre of her project. However the later part did intrigue him a little. He was looking forward to this project since he hoped to see an original approach in preparing Mandrake.)

_Camouflage – Various potions to become invisible as well as to hide undesirable spots _by Pansy Parkinson (He felt his blood run cold. With one sentence she told him more about her desires than he would have thought possible. He had known that Parkinson was a convinced follower of the Dark Lord, but he had been naïve enough to believe that his daughter wouldn't become a fanatical follower. She already played with the thought of receiving the Mark right after turning of age next February, it was the only spot he could think her of wanting to hide, at least as long as she attended to school. Her ambitions in spying seemed to have been fuelled the last few weeks since she had had the instruction of her father to spy on Potter).

_Poisons – __Alternatives when the Bezoar fails_ by Theodore Nott (Snape wasn't a simpleton. He knew this project was chosen so Mr Nott could have free permission to research in poisons. There was not much he could do about it expect telling the headmaster about his fears).

_Alternatives to the Use of Dragon Hide – an experimental study _by Draco Malfoy (A project that was not less demanding than Miss Granger's. The young Malfoy always had a protective streak towards the magical beings whose names he received. A brewer he wouldn't become, but it would be an interesting topic.)

_A Potion's Soul – The flow of potion-making expressed __through Arithmency with the example of Wolfsbane _by Blaise Zabini (This project caused him to nearly smile. Of course, Mr Zabini would choose a project where his best friend Miss Bulstrode could participate since she had been inconsolable for having received an 'E' in her OWLs. Like this she could take part and if Mr Zabini did everything correctly would even be able to attend the NEWT exams at the end of seventh year. He would certainly help with this. Mr Zabini showed his cunning side by choosing Wolfsbane since that was a potion no sixth year, not even Miss Granger, was able to brew. He was one of the only people in England capable of brewing it, however since there was no potion with a more various flow the choice of Wolfsbane had been wise and would make the project more demanding. Like this, Miss Bulstrode would work with them both and in the end he would be able to grade her.)

_Possible Uses of the Muggle Herbs Clover and Ivy in Various Potions_ by Terry Boot (Again a project with potential. Her mother had a shop in London that sold herbs and potions ingredients. However, the shop was not in Diagon Ally but in Muggle London. As a wizard you only found it when you sought it. He had been told that when a Muggle entered the shop half of the things she sold were not to be seen anymore.)

He looked at the papers before him and was impressed: This would be an interesting year. However, Potter's topic had yet to come. Whatever it would be, he wouldn't approve of it. He laid all the other papers away determined to do the hard work before he'd take care of the projects with potential.

He took Potter's paper and started to read:

_Fluid Protection – How to create a lasting shield with the help of a potion_

He felt his eyebrows rise. He couldn't help it. The topic sounded… attractive. He had always been interested in potions that would work in the form of gas or which as soon as poured out of the vial or cauldron would take solid form. He skimmed through Potter's paper and saw that his pupil's thoughts were directed in the same direction: Gryffindor's Golden Boy worked towards a potion that as soon as it touched solid ground would create a shield resembling the Protego Charm. Maybe, the project wouldn't be so abhorrent after all. It was a difficult but not an impossible task.

When he turned the next page a sheet of parchment fell from his desk. He picked it up. Looking at it, the first thing that he noticed were words that had been crossed out. He furrowed his brows: It wasn't like Potter to hand in such a piece of paper: After having received a low grade simply for having crossed out more than ten words in an essay in his second year, the brat had stopped with the distasteful habit of cancelling words like this.

Intrigued he looked at the sheet more closely. When he started to read, he could barely contain his astonishment:

"_Professor Snape_

_As unexpected as my letter must be, /_be assured_/ I would be /_glad_/ grateful for your attention. _

_I would like to apologize for my behaviour towards you in general but most especially __for my disrespectful demeanour last year in the course of the remedial potions lessons. _

_I invaded you__r privacy and /_for that I apologize_/ I had no right to do that._

_Please, be assured I have never told anybody about it save for those who had been present at the time. _

/There is so much more I would like to tell you, but I do not know how/

_I wouldn't be surprised if you doubted my sincerity, Sir, all I can ask you is to give me a chance to explain. I have never meant to watch your private memor__ies; I sneaked in your Pensieve in the hope of gaining information about the war._

The letter ended at that point. Confused he skimmed through Potter's paper and found three more sheets of parchment that didn't belong to the assignment: Each piece of paper was filled with similarly written letters; there were seven of those all in all.

He reread each of them at least three times. They troubled him more than he would like to admit:

_The summer was hard, more than once I wished to have listened to you more closely._

_I apologize for having wasted your time in Occlumency._

_I wish you could test my shields._

_You cannot stand me, Sir. I am aware of that, but please give me a chance to make amends._

_Be assured, I didn't enjoy what I saw._

… _I am aware of you power as a Legilimence_

_I would be very grateful if you could teach me Occlumency again, just one more lesson._

_Be assured I have never talked to anybody but my godfather and Professor Lupin about it._

_I would like to thank you for having saved my life in first year, although it is a little late._

_/_Yours sincerely_/ _(Whenever the boy had managed to bring the letters to an end, he could never leave this way of concluding a letter, always crossed it out after having written it)

_I am deeply ashamed of what I have done. I hope there is a way I can make amends._

Even hours later after he had put the letters away, he recalled the sentences. This had to be some trick: Potter's way of manipulation to receive better grades. But then he remembered the words that had been crossed out. Nobody would have struggled with words like this if the intention behind it wasn't sincere.

However, Potter must have intended this; he had pretended to be insecure hoping to soften him. Yes, that had to be it. It was much more likely that the brat was smarter than he had originally thought (talks with the other professors this year confirmed that) than actual regret over the invasion of his privacy.

There was simply no way of the boy being secure and he would proof that. On Thursday he would observe the Golden Boy. There had to be some sort of explanation for this.

* * *

Severus Snape paced in his office back and forth. He had just come back from Thursdays lessons.

The lesson with his NEWTs bothered him:

_He opened the door to the classroom and strode __in with the determination to watch Potter closely without acting differently (Years of practice as a spy did have their advantage). The dungeon door closed with a bang and was pleased to see that everybody was already silent. NEWTs were here because they wanted to be, not because they were obligated and it showed._

_He looked at them all, his gaze as always resting on Potter. Not unlike since the beginning of the year the boy's upper body touched the back of his chair looking at him without flinching; however the brat seemed to avoid meeting his eyes directly. Hadn't the boy been doing that for the last four weeks he'd have interpreted this as duplicity. _

_With the usual quiet voice he used in his class he started today's lecture: "I have read your concepts for the __projects and while most of them seem interesting and manageable there were some..." he looked back at Potter again. When he watched the Golden Boy focusing on his desk, he allowed himself to express a sneering grin. "Some of you have burdened yourselves with tasks which I do not expect you to be able to execute." His sneer was a little more pronounced when he saw the nervousness of Miss Granger. _

"_I have looked at all of your papers and will give you a short amount of time to examine the commentaries I wrote down. After that you will brew _Colorazione di sogni_" to his surprise he saw the brat flinch, "This potion is also called "Dream's Colour". If it is correctly brewed in a pewter cauldron, a cup of the potion poured in a bowl made of cupper and mixed with someone's blood it changes its colour and thereby gives a general idea of the blood donor's dreams." Potter viewed him with an expression he was unable to interpret, did he look…haunted?_

_Immediately he dismissed this idea and handed out the papers. __Carefully he observed his pupils' reactions: Miss Midgen read her instruction thoroughly but since he supported her general ideas he hadn't expected anything else, the same reaction was shown by Miss Boot. _

_Miss Parkinson looked between her paper and her Head of House. He had made unmistakably clear that he was aware of her intentions, but since his life depended on people like the sixteen year old witch believing him to be a spy there was not much more he could__ officially do than admonish her of secrecy. He had of course told the Headmaster about it, but the man's hands were tied as well. Miss Parkinson's decisions were her own, however he wouldn't let her go the path of darkness without making unmistakably clear what she lost by doing that. _

_With Theodore Nott it was the very same. The boy's eyes were furrowed and his face seemed to have lost colour for a moment when he had realized his teacher understood his intentions._

_Mr Zabini had already read his comments, his lips__ were formed to a small smile. _

_To the Potions Master's surprise __the young Slytherin then looked over to the Gryffindors, worry evident on his face. Of course, the professor had heard of the new-formed friendship between Mr. Zabini, Miss Bulstrode and Potter's little entourage. He had even been obligated to give Mr Zabini detention for having hexed a seventh year Slytherin who had insulted Miss Lovegood on the corridors as well as he had had to end fights between some of the older Slytherins and the two friends in the Common Room. However, this obvious concern towards Potter and Miss Granger puzzled him. _

_Mr Malfoy read the flattering comments he had written (_thank Merlin the boy did have some talent in Potions_) and just like Mr Zabini he started to observe Potter, unlike the other with a smug expression._

_The Potions Master then decided to look at Potter as well. The boy seemed to be unable to believe his eyes (_He had decided to surprise Potter by writing his honest opinion and by doing so astonished himself when he reread his own comments that contained hardly any insults, a slight doubt of the boy's ability to succeed but mostly a moderate interest in the project_). The boy read the comments three times, once even following the lines with his finger. Then he looked up and met his professor's eyes. Confusion was evident, but the expected smugness or silent triumph over the success of a cunning plan was absent. Snape's expression was unreadable, but the brat seriously started to make him wonder. _

_Suddenly he watched the boy __closing his eyes for only a short moment and immediately turning towards his best friend. Miss Granger's hands shook a little. It was clear how much his comments bothered her (He had written of it being an extraordinarily complex topic that would require her full attention in order to even make slight progress and since he expected her to do experiments as well, the usual amount of time she saved for his class wouldn't be good enough. Therefore he had proposed her a less demanding topic in order to gain a full night's sleep for the rest of the year). His comment hadn't been too scathing, but he wanted the young witch to recognize the difficulty of her task. He hadn't expected her to take his notes to heart since over the last two years her confidence had grown drastically. Nevertheless, her eyes filled with tears. _

_Wordlessly Potter asked her what was wrong who handed him her paper. Carefully he read the written remarks, his eyebrows furrowed. He then lent over to his friend whispering some words into her ears. She smiled a little and nodded a little subdued._

_The brat looked up sharply, those cursed green eyes __burning with anger. The reaction took him aback. For the first time this term, the well-known defying demeanour of Gryffindor's Golden Boy returned and the potions professor realized that his adversary had been absent in September and was now back, if only for a moment._

_Yes, the boy truly puzzled him._

"_Are there any questions? Comments?" Miss Granger lifted her hand, "yes?"_

"_I would like to pursue my project, Sir, if that is possible." Well, this surprised him. What, in __the name of Merlin, had the brat told her?_

"_It is, Miss Granger. However, your topic is demanding. You are aware of that?"_

"_Yes, Sir." Confident in a way he had never seen Miss Granger before, the words had been spoken. Whatever Potter had said, it had made an impression on his friend._

"_If that is all," he continued with a silent tone, "we will start to brew Dream's Colour__. The instructions are in the book on page 35, as well." With a wave of his wand the directions appeared on the board at the same time as the strange look reappeared on the Golden Boy's face._

"_Since you have no more lessons after this class, we will have time to finish this potion today for it doesn't take more than two hours to brew. However all in all with preparing and cleaning up, we will be here until five o'clock." Knowing the brat's Quidditch training started at 5.30, he had expected Potter to be outraged, but the boy's thoughts seemed otherwise __engaged._

_While __his pupils started to prepare, he placed his own cauldron and spelled a desk close to him where he set up the ingredients. _

_It was alwa__ys amusing to observe his NEWTs' reactions when he brewed in front of them for the first time in six years. He had long ago found out to be incapable of brewing very well in a classroom full of people (his performance in class as a student had always been good enough, but the real achievements he had made in theoretical knowledge or when he had been allowed to brew alone). The different fumes of inexperienced students irritated his exceptionally sensitive nose and caused him to lose focus. Just like when he was a student, the older the pupils became the more they knew about brewing, less mistakes happened (unless their names were Neville Longbottom) and class in general was more tolerable. In his NEWT class only the best brewers were accepted and therefore he could finally brew along with them. There was a special reason for doing it today: _

"_The reason why I brew along with you is that Dream's Colour is a fast-paced potion. It means that for it to work you have a limited amount of time to add each ingredient and all of them have to be added at the right moment. We will be brewing this kind of potion about five times this year and ten times in the next. This year I will brew along with you, in your seventh year you will need the sensitivity and subtlety of doing it on your own."_

_Without saying anything else Snape sta__rted to prepare his ingredients. All of his pupils' understood the hint and started preparing, too. He chopped, cut and sliced with ease and in quick routine. After a few minutes he saw all of them, even Miss Granger, struggle with preparing. He saw them all reading the sixth year potions book all trying to slice the Ralika Bean, a bean related to the Sopophorous bean. It had a will of its own and was almost impossible to slice for it always jumped away. _

"_Do not believe everything that stands in the books," he said, smirking menacingly at Miss Granger who seemed taken aback, "do not try to slice it. Crush it with your silver knife. Like this you will __be able to handle the bean more easily and you will receive more juice in the process."_

_He kept on talking and preparing the ingredients __in a slightly slower pace. He didn't realize it, but when he spoke like this, explaining, almost talking to himself, the Potions Master received much more attention than he did with his usual cold menacing tone. _

_After having prepared the ingredients, they started to brew. While adding each ingredient at the right moment, he explained the effects of every item._

_Two__ minutes before the last ingredient had to be put in, he looked at his pupils. Most of them had the correct potion though the Miss Boot's didn't smell as strongly as his. Mr Zabini's brewing was slightly off colour, however it was correct. Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger had managed to brew almost perfect potions. His other Slytherins and Miss Midgen's potions would be graded as an 'E'. _

_Potter's potion was wrong. At first, he couldn't say what the problem was, but something __was incorrect. He observed the potion more closely and immediately recognized that although it looked alright, it didn't smell like Dream's Colour. Whatever the boy had created, it wasn't the requested brewing._

"_Potter, please be kind enough to tell me how you managed to brew the wrong potion. Were any of my expressions unclear? Surly, you have mastered the ability to understand English," he sneered. The boy looked at him in surprise. Clearly, he hadn't expected to be caught._

_The brat avoided looking into his eyes when he said: "Sir, doesn't my potion look correct?" _

_He couldn't even say that it wasn't the case. It didn't smell accurately, however the colour was correct. Instead of answering he added the last ingredient, closely watching the brat's potion. The last colour change was flawless; he only knew there was something wrong with it._

"_Take the cauldrons off the fire; they will have to cool down for ten minutes. After that we will test the efficiency of your potions. Clean up your tables in the meantime." _

_He never used magic to clean up his desk with the ingredients since there was a chance of interaction between wand's magic and the innate magic of the ingredients. _

_Ten minutes later he controlled his students' assignments: All seemed to be usable, however the odour of Potter's work was unchanged. He had smelled it before and it wasn't Dream's Colour. _

_He conjured eight cupper bowls and told them to fill a cup. With another __flick of his wand eight aseptic needles appeared floating in the air._

"_Please, take one of these clean needles and cut into one of your fingers slightly. It only takes three drops of blood so there is no need for a massacre in my classroom. As I already told you, as soon as the blood mixes with the potion it does change colour. For those with calm nights and good dreams or those who don't remember them, the potion will glisten white. For those with unfulfilled desires or heart-stirring worries the potion will shimmer red. Those of you with regular nightmares the achieved colour will be blue. As you can see, the potion is rather vague. It is used in St Mungo's Hospital, most especially on the forth floor since sometimes patients with spell damage are unable to speak or incapable of expressing their feelings. The potion helps the healers to affirm if a sleeping draft is in order."_

_With that he gestured them to go ahead, Potter seemed to struggle with himself. _

_When he watched the children pouring their work in the bowl he realized with a start that at times of war, most likely all potions would be coloured red or blue. _

_All of his Slytherins seemed to struggle with worries or desire since their potions turned red, as was Miss Grangers. Miss Midgen's and Miss Boot's brewing shimmered white. __At least, even though in the middle of a terrible war, none of the students seemed to be plagued with regular nightmares, two out of eight could even be called naïve. _

"_Potter, don't be such a baby," Mr Malfoy sneered when Gry__ffindor's Golden Boy hesitated, "a little cut won't kill you." There it was again, the defiant slightly annoyed look of the brat directed at his rival. It only lasted a second only to be replaced by that strange expression the potions professor was unable to interpret._

_When the drops o__f blood touched Potter's potion it immediately turned red. Why had the potion worked? Why had he fretted like this? _

_Snape__ dismissed them all, telling them to clean out their cauldron and leave. He would take care of the bowls. He let them all disappear save for Potter's. He went to his cauldron, filled a cup with his brewing and put it into another clean bowl he had conjured. With a flick of his wand he made the rest of the cauldron's content disappear and left for his office._

Now he was here brooding. Potter's behaviour in class had been rather strange, for the first time in months showing defiance towards him, being scared of the potion they had brewed, the disbelieve in the brat's eyes because of the lack of degrading comments concerning the projects. However, all of it could be called a matter of circumstance. Nothing in his demeanour indicated that he had deliberately given him the unfinished letters.

In front of him was the answer of another puzzle he had yet to solve: Potter's strange behaviour concerning the potion in general and the questionable result of his brewing.

He lifted and said with a low voice: "Extracto sanguis!"

The three drops of blood slowly peeled themselves from the potion that took its original colour. He let them float to the other bowl and let the drops fall.

The potion turned black. His eyes went wide… He hadn't told the students of the last colour Dream's Colour could take. Black told the brewer that the blood donor had extreme trouble with sleep and experienced regular nightmares. He knew someone with a similar sleeping pattern: himself.

It shouldn't surprise him. Gryffindor's Golden Boy had a lot on his plate, but still this result was troubling. Now, he'd definitely had to talk to the headmaster (he had wanted to ask for his advice concerning the letters).

There was another puzzle that yet had to be solved: Potter's potion. It truly had been wrong and yet it had looked correctly. Whatever the sixteen-year-old had changed, it had been smart and subtle. Anyway, Severus Snape wasn't called a Potions Master for nothing, he was known, even among other brewers, to be one of the best people to analyze a potion. Years ago he had created a spell that would allow listing every ingredient used in a specific potion unless the brewer knew the counter.

Of course, Potter wasn't one of the few who knew this. Only a second later the parchment he had touched with his wand after touching the potion revealed all of itscomponents.

Potter somehow had managed to smuggle in LaRica, the rainbow-root, a plant that allowed the brewer to wilfully control the colour of three different potions: Dream's Colour, Veritas (A potion that worked on the concept of turning red when the blood donor lied and blue when they told the truth. LaRica was the reason why the Ministry had replaced it with Veritaserum for interrogations since there had been a history of bribed brewers.) and Polyjuice Potion (since the root could only change colour and not the consistency cheating was fruitless and didn't find much use in that potion).

The brat had simply put in LaRica and then taken other potions as a model. Snape was impressed beside himself; he wondered where the insufferable boy had read about it. Seeing the true colour of his dreams, he wasn't surprised by the Golden Boy's desire to hide it. However it did vex him that not even Miss Granger seemed to know of the boy's dreams. She had been completely oblivious to her friend's troubles.

He'd have to talk to the Headmaster about it, there was no other option. He walked towards the fireplace to speak about what had happened in today's NEWT Potions class when his eyes fell on Mr Potter's letters of apology.

He picked them up, took the floo-powder, lit the fireplace and said clearly: "The headmaster's office."

A smile covered the old but most definitely not rusty man when Albus Dumbledore saw who came through the fireplace.

"Severus, what can I do for you, my boy?" Wordlessly Snape handed the sheets of parchment. The headmaster skimmed them through rather quickly and looked at him rather confused. "My boy, why are you handing me empty sheets of parchment?"

For the third time within two days the brat had managed to surprise him. He had enchanted the sheets, probably with very basic privacy charms. Only the receiver and the writer were enabled to read the letters. With a flick of his wand he cancelled the spell, well aware of the cautiousness Potter had displayed by doing this. Maybe this wasn't a trick after all.

While the headmaster started to read the letters, a smile started to form on the old man's face. '_I should have known. He will want me to _bond _with the insufferable brat, just like last year when he had told him how the both of us could benefit from the Occlumency lessons. This will never happen. The Golden Boy is as arrogant as his father and godfather.'_

'_A boy that apologized to you,' _that annoying little voice that had started to make itself known the last two days came back.

'_He isn't sincere. It's a trick to receive better grades.' _

'_As if you had ever given him hope to receive more than a barely acceptable one.' _

He shook his head, clearly annoyed by the conversation he had with himself. Albus Dumbledore looked at him, his eyes sparkling.

"Harry gave you those letters?" he asked.

"No, headmaster. He must have left them in between an assignment I've told them to do. I wonder if this is a simple endeavour to ingratiate with me." For some reason, the other man laughed light-heartedly after hearing the Potions Master's assumptions.

"My dear boy, in fourteen years of teaching, has there been any student who tried to ingratiate with you unless you have favoured them all along?" The younger man knew this was true. But he was unsure of the brat's driving force to write such a letter.

His mentor continued much more seriously, "Harry put himself in a very vulnerable position by writing those letters and although he didn't give them to you willingly, I doubt he would have written them weren't he completely sincere. The poor boy has been ridiculed so many times at this school" He sighed a little, "I am surprised he put words of such strong emotional nature to paper and more astonishingly the letter was addressed to you who are not exactly known to be his best friend." There it was again, that terribly sad look on the man's face when he recalled the hostility between the two wizards he cared about the most.

"I should have known that you won't doubt the boy's truthfulness. And even if the brat," a stern look appeared on the headmaster's face that made the other man feel like a student scolded by a teacher, "Even if Potter were sincere it doesn't excuse a thing. The boy willingly invaded my privacy and he insults me on regular basis," Well, that stretched it a little. Safe for today he hadn't received that gaze full of loathing ever since their last meeting at the end of Potter's fifth year.

"He even had the audacity to admit how grossly he neglected the lessons last term. Not as if I hadn't noticed that, but still…"

"He's trying to make amends, the letters almost scream this. He wrote '_I wish you could test my shields_.' Aren't you interested in the least, Severus? You don't have to answer that, I know you are. It is probably the main reason why you are here. You don't understand Harry's demeanour and you want to analyze what happened. However, you should know that although Harry has remarkable resistance towards anything bad happening to him, he is easily hurt." Snape snorted only to receive another stern look.

"Severus, you need to know: Harry has much more to say to you than he wrote in those letters. He asks for your forgiveness and if I am not mistaken for your help as well, at least in the form of Occlumency."

"I am not able to provide him with either of those things, Headmaster. I will not forgive him for invading my privacy and concerning Occlumency: I have never met a person with a less adept mind in my life. He carries his heart on his sleeve and is proud of it. He completely lacks in any kind of control."

"And yet he asks you to test his shields. It means he has practiced. Are you not at all curious of his progress?"

He couldn't deny that he had been intrigued and so he said: "I will test them." When the headmaster smiled at him he added in a scathing tone, "but I will not cuddle him. I will test his shields to find out if they stand the slightest chance against the Dark Lord's Legilimency. And I want you to talk to the brat; I will simply come here to test the shields. You can floo-call me."

"If that is the only way, my boy," the sad look was back on the man's face and it did bother Snape that he would cause the twinkle to disappear completely.

"We brewed Dream's Colour today," he started hesitantly. Without having to say more, the other wizard looked much older than usual.

"His turned black," the headmaster said more to himself; the Potions Master struggled a little to hold the other man's gaze. Seeing the man so anguished was painful to watch.

"I will call him to my office tomorrow after lunch. Be prepared to be called."

Grateful for the dismissal, he nodded and left the room, glad to have shared the burden concerning Potter. No matter how hard he tried to forget, the letters were constantly on his mind.

* * *

Harry, Ron and Hermione were in the Great Hall enjoying lunch. They'd just come back from a rather exiting Herbology class were they had had to deal with Centeotl's Dear, a Mexican plant that was normally well to handle, but it hated to be taken from the ground to be replanted in another pot. Since the herb was as high and twice as strong as the students, they had left for lunch rather dirty and tired.

They had just started eating when Dobby appeared beside him Harry.

"Harry Potter, Sir, there is a letter for you, Sir," the house-elf squeaked in his typically shrill, high voice,

"Hello, Dobby," Harry said in a friendly tone, happy to see the house-elf for the first time in over two weeks, "a letter for me? Why wasn't it sent by owl-post?"

"Because, Sir, it was non-magical folk sending it, Harry Potter."

Harry took the letter Dobby presented him: "Thank you," he said causing the house-elf to beam at him. He forced himself to smile until his loyal friend left the Great Hall with a 'pop'.

Whatever stood in the letter, it wasn't good. The only people he could think of writing him by muggle-post were the Dursleys and they always pretended he didn't exist while he was at school. Hesitantly he looked at the letter that simply said "Harry Potter – Boarding School"

He captured his friends' gazes and raised his eyebrows a little. Ron looked about as suspicious as he felt, Hermione's smile was encouraging.

Hesitantly he opened the letter and started to read. The handwriting was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

_Dear Harry_

_I'm probably one of the last people you expected to hear from. We didn't exactly talk a lot over the summer. _

_Every time I thought to have gathered the courage to talk to you, I saw you and was scared again. It is not your fault, you were quite attentive without being hostile, but I didn't manage to look into your eyes and say it. _

_Well, it is easier for me to put words on paper than in my mouth, so I will just go ahead:_

_I am sorry._

_I am sorry for everything. The way I treated you the last fifteen (well I hope only fourteen) years is completely inexcusable. We are cousins and could or should have grown up as brothers, but we didn't. I treated you like an unwelcome house-guest, teased you, even beat you up. _

_I know that the words "I am sorry" seem hollow, yet they are the only ones I can think of._

_You'll be wondering what happened: Well those things that attacked us last summer… You said they s__uck out all happiness from you, so you will never feel happy again. The day they attacked me, I was reminded of the day when you first came to our house. I didn't even know I recalled that morning:_

_Mom brought me down to the kitchen and you were there, she fed me first and then you, but I didn't want her to give you any kind of attention. I threw a tantrum causing her to stop feeding you. Or the other night when you cried in the cupboard and I heard her going down. I cried loudly not wanting to share her. She never went to you. _

_They made me remember so many times I threw a tantrum without never having been truly hurt. On the other hand, I saw every single time I hurt you and it filled me with shame. I recognized that day how truly selfish my behaviour towards you was. What did you have to go through when those things arrive? I mean, I teased you for so many years in Primary School. You must have seen all those moments of humiliation and pain. I am sorry about that. Or do they affect your folks less than us?_

_There are so many questions I want to ask you, but before you wonder__, let me explain you why I wrote a letter in the course of the year: I hope to get another chance. I would like to get to know you. _

_We will both turn seventeen next year and then it will be only a year until we are of age. I cannot imagine you to keep in touch as soon as you are of age, but you are the only relative I have my age and if I don't try to make amends, I will never see you again._

_Please be assured that this isn't some trick. Fact is, I don't know you though we've lived in the same house almost all our life. I would like to, though._

_Were we now face to face I would offer my hand. Are you interested?_

_Your cousin, _

_Dudley_

Harry reread the letter twice, then handed it over to his friends. He felt a little dazed. He of course had noticed his cousin's more friendly behaviour, but an apology from Dudley?

It was almost unheard of. For a moment he wished the boy to be in front of him offering his hand since like this he would be able to judge the boy's sincerity. Ever since he had started to create his shields, he had learnt a lot about human emotion (yesterday's episode in the dungeons had proofed that when he had felt Hemione's distress). He had also learnt to differ truth from lies although not proficiently yet, but he could read people much more easily than before.

Hermione seemed rather touched by the letter: "Are you going to write him, Harry?" She asked.

Before Harry could answer, his best friend interjected: "He would be an idiot to do that. There is no way his cousin truly means this."

"To me he sounds sincere," Hermione retorted rather sharply. To Ron it was almost the sign to start their usual bickering: "So what? Even if he were honest, which I doubt, you don't honestly believe that a short letter like this make up for the years of teasing Harry."

Harry's heart stopped a little. What if Snape would think the same when he finally had managed to write an accurate letter (and found the courage to actually give it)? Surly, he hadn't teased the Potions Master, but he had disrespected him more than once.

Thinking about his own desires, he made a decision: He'd give his cousin a chance since he wished the same from the Order's spy.

"Guys," he said, breaking off the argument that had started to form, "I agree with Hermione."

Both looked at him rather surprised and he continued: "I mean. Imagine how terribly awkward he must have felt writing and sending the letter. It takes a lot of courage to ask for forgiveness like this. I will not deny it to him simply to hold an old grudge." Ron opened his mouth to protest.

"Don't worry. I will not pour my heart out, but I am willing to give him a chance. I will stay detached and neutral until I am sure of his honesty."

This time Ron and Hermione both looked at him in disbelieve, the red-haired boy started to talk: "Harry, there are many things you are capable of, but to be emotionally detached clearly isn't one of them."

He wanted the say something in indignation, but was interrupted by Hermione: "You already are emotionally involved, Harry, don't deny it. The second you read the letter you were willing to give your cousin a second chance. It's who you are. It's a good thing and though I believe him to be sincere I agree with Ron: Be careful."

"I will be, don't worry. I…"

They were interrupted by Professor McGonagall: "Mr Potter, the headmaster would like to talk to you. If you will follow me, please!"

His heart sank faster then should have been possible. Numbly he nodded, suddenly nervous. The letter was forgotten. He had wanted to talk to Dumbledore long before, but he hadn't been able to summon the courage of telling the man how sorry he was for his behaviour last year. Now he had no other chance but to do it.

Dazedly he excused himself from his friends and followed his Head of House.

* * *

Yet another chapter!

As you can see, the main plot has finally begun.

I would like to hear your opinion: Did I capture Snape's character accurately? He is incredibly hard to write and I am a little insecure. I always imaged him to be a different teacher towards his NEWTs than the younger students, I hope that is alright to you.

What do you think about the potions project? It came to my mind yesterday and simply wouldn't let me go.

What do you think of the story in general?

Next Chapter will be _"Chapter 6: Testing Waters and Shields"_

There is no guarantee when I will be able to post it. Hopefully it will be up next Friday, but I cannot promise it.

Thanks for every reader and especially the reviewers who went this far with the story.


	8. Testing Waters and Shields

**Chapter 6: Testing Water and Shields**

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sat in his office awaiting Harry's arrival.

He hadn't talked to the boy since the day Sirius had died. Thinking back to the events that had led to the good man's death, he felt deeply ashamed.

Albus Dumbledore was known to be a highly intelligent man, the person people approached for wisdom and guidance. However, the brighter you were and the fewer mistakes you made, the more terrible were the results when they happened.

Over the years he had wronged several people; he recalled all their faces, their lives before and after his error, remembered their disappointment when they realized he had failed them.

Sirius Black had been one of those for he had neglected to pursue the happenings after James Potter had chosen his best friend as a Secret Keeper. He had been unable to confront the supposed traitor since he had blamed himself for not having been capable of convincing James to choose him as Secret Keeper; he hadn't wanted to be taunted by the man. By choosing to do so he had not only convicted an innocent man to Azkaban prison for more than a decade but endangered all in all ten boys he had sworn to protect by letting a mass murderer sleep in their dorm for seven years, four years it had been Percy Weasley and his dorm mates, later his youngest brother, not to mention the Weasley family, people who held him in such high esteem, they all could have been murdered, had such an act been to the benefit of Peter Pettigrew.

Yes, there were only few people he had failed especially in his later years, nevertheless fate was cruel: Those he had disappointed once he usually failed multiple times.

He had imprisoned Sirius Black. The man who had lived the major part of his mature life locked away and he, Albus Dumbledore, had caged him again. He had known his choice wasn't wise, but he had wanted to keep the young man alive. After having failed him once, he wanted to be sure of his freedom once the Ministry saw reason. By trying to save him he had been partly responsible in the brave man's early death.

He sighed and placed his face in his hands, an unusually powerless gesture of the wise wizard. Had anybody been in the office, they would have been shocked to see the normally cheerful man like this. He couldn't help it; Thinking of Sirius made him realize that most mistakes he had made the last sixteen years were at the cost of only one person: The young man that would enter his office any minute.

It filled him with shame to know that Harry, one of the people he cared about the most, would suffer from almost every single mistake he had made. At first by denying a godfather for he had neglected to meet with Barty Crouch Senior and therefore had found out years later that there had never been a hearing that might have been able to prevent Sirius from Azkaban. Then he had sent Harry to Lily's sister. Oh yes, he regretted it though with the knowledge of the child being safer there than any place, including Hogwarts itself. When he had seen the small boy looking more like nine years than eleven in his first year at Hogwarts, he had known with crystal clarity that Petunia hadn't done what he had asked her to do. Ashamed, he had to acknowledge to have known it before from various reports of Mrs Figg who had let him know that Harry had never been allowed to go out with the family.

When he had placed his eyes upon Harry for the first time in ten years, he had wanted to kneel on the ground begging for Lily's forgiveness which he knew would never come. Though not physically abused, it had been clear that the boy had been grossly neglected and it was his fault. Hadn't there been the rumours of Voldemort being in England and his suspicions of Professor Quirrel being one of his followers (though not even he had realized what had been hidden underneath the turban), he would have placed Harry somewhere else. However, things had been the way they were and he wanted Harry to be safe for he had made this promise to the Potters if something happened to them. That was not to mention the Prophecy that indicated the poor boy to be a necessity to "vanquish the Dark Lord". Well, he would help the boy with all his power even if it meant his own death. That much he owed to the child.

Thinking of the Prophecy made him think of last year, the year where all the mistakes at Harry's expends had morphed into one terrible, unforgivable catastrophe with its showdown in the Ministry of Magic at the end of last term.

All of it could have been avoided, had the boy known, had he treated Harry like the young man he had proofed to be countless times. Had he explained him the reasons for his distance towards him. Had he just done anything different…

He remembered their last meeting in this very room, the boy's distress, his unbearable pain, the anger. Yet, the boy hadn't been as furious as he should have been. Today the grief will not be as strong, however the anger he couldn't anticipate. Had it remained? Had it morphed into hatred over the last months of having virtually no contact? He had wanted to give Harry time to recollect himself, but what if it had been a mistake once again to be put on the list of mistakes he had made concerning Lily's and Jame's son?

Maybe Harry had simply stopped trusting him. There might be a chance, not all hope was lost. He loved the boy like the grandson he had never had and losing him was an unbearable thought.

He heard a soft knock on the door and immediately tried to get rid off the dark thoughts. He saw Harry enter silently closing the door behind him.

The boy had grown over the summer, he still couldn't be deemed tall but he no longer seemed to be among the shortest male students of his year. Seeing Harry seemed to let all the words he had wanted to say die before even reaching his lips.

"Hello, Harry," was all he could say kindly. The boy whispered a greeting word as well, unable to look the headmaster in the eye. It pained the older man more than he could express.

"How are you?" He asked hoping to get a comprehensible answer this time. The boy lifted his gaze and looked at him with those emerald eyes that usually seemed so full of life. Today, they seemed strangely subdued.

"I am… Professor Dumbledore, I would like to apologize for my behaviour before the end of last term. I never meant to insult you the way I did by acting so repellently disrespectful, Sir. What happened at the Ministry was not you fault and I had no right to assume that…" He stopped for a moment, his eyes downcast again.

It took all of his experience not to show his astonishment. He had anticipated anger, even hatred, he had expected to see a suspicious, distrustful young wizard in front of him, but all he saw was a young child that felt terribly bad for having misbehaved. The boy had even practiced his apology; otherwise he would have used a different vocabulary.

"Harry," he said softly, the boy looked at him again, "Do not ever apologize for what happened that day in this very office, my boy. I am not mad at you. In fact, you weren't even half as angry as you deserved to be. There is nothing to forgive."

He could see the tears that formed in his pupil's eyes, but they wouldn't fall. He saw the boy relax a little, as if a great burden had been taken from him. This must have bothered him more than the headmaster had originally thought.

"You wanted to see me, Sir." Harry said a little more confident than before.

"Yes, Harry. I've only heard the best of your current performance in class, but none of the teachers have been able to tell me how you were." He had decided to let the boy decide whether or not to talk about his nightmares. He wouldn't mention the letter, either. Severus would have to tell Harry about those.

"I am fine, Sir, thank you for asking." It sounded like an answer he had given multiple times in the course of last month; however, it was painfully obvious that the boy was everything but fine: With the knowledge of Dream's Colour's results he observed the young wizard very carefully. It was remarkable how a boy so deprived of sleep could look so well. However, a touch of dark circles was undeniable around Harry's eyes. The colour of his skin seemed slightly paler than usual. All in all, the sixteen year old Harry Potter looked much older, a young child who had seen too much ("I've had enough, I've seen enough, I want out, I want it to end, I don't care anymore…" The boy's own words, words to visit the older man's nightmares, came back to his mind). He shouldn't have sent him back to Privet Drive, he knew now that his list of mistakes had just become a little longer.

Forcing himself to speak calmly he decided to speak his mind: "I regret having sent you back to your aunt and uncle at the end of last term. I think I should have sent you somewhere else." As much as he had tried to speak tranquilly without emotion he failed terribly, his voice breaking a little in the end.

To his surprise, the boy looked at him seriously, for a second looking much older than he already did: "Where, Sir? Where would you have sent me? You couldn't have brought me back to Grimmauld Place I would have broken down there and no matter where else you would've sent me; the people to provide me shelter would have been endangered. It's safest in Privet Drive for me over the summer. I know that." Then the boy's eyes brightened a little and looked more adequately his age when he said, "It did have its good sides, Sir. My cousin has just written to me today, he'd like to keep in touch. We got along better over the summer. He helped me in fact, Sir, more than he realizes." It was astonishing how the boy's features could change from an eager teenager to a haunted man within seconds.

It was time to ask: "Did you have any dreams over the summer?"

"Yes, Sir, but I didn't tell you because Professor Snape was usually present or they didn't talk about strategies. It would have been of no use for you. Besides, _he_ didn't seem to realize me being in his mind." The boy explained very quickly, obviously having rehearsed this part of the conversation as well.

The headmaster stared at the teenager completely taken aback. Did Harry really think he wasn't interested in his pain unless it was essential to the war?

The boy completely misunderstood the older man's reaction and started to apologize: "I am sorry, Sir. I practiced Occlumency, I really did. I think my shields are actually quite strong, but there was nobody that could have tested them and I didn't want to bother you after being so terribly rude at the end of last term. The dreams have changed in fact after the creation of my shields. I watched everything sort of as observer… I …"

"Harry, my boy, calm down!" Professor Dumbledore was dumbfounded to see Harry like this: The child had feared this meeting much more than he had. However, the information also grieved him; the boy didn't just suffer from nightmares as he had wanted to believe at first. Harry had actual visions. What cruelty must the boy have witnessed? It was a miracle or more accurately a demonstration of the child's character strength to not have lost his mind. "I didn't mean to distress you. I did not frown because I was angry with you," he struggled a little to find the right words, "Harry, you should have come to me," again the young wizard's mouth opened to apologize once again, he continued, "not for information, but for yourself. I might have been able to ease your mind a little bit. I apologize that you had to go through this summer alone."

"It's okay, Sir," Harry sad quietly without looking his headmaster in the eyes, his ears turned red.

"No, it is not," he retorted seriously.

He had seen very clearly how the summer had taken its toll of Severus. The man who was one of the most resilient people he knew had been at the brink of breaking down. The young man before him had already been in a terrible shape, shaken by his godfather's death. Indeed, the fact the boy before him hadn't been driven mad was a miracle, "Harry, what terrible things you must have seen."

Again, the boy didn't look up, his whole body tense. When his pupil spoke again, the voice was rough and quiet, desperately trying to sound strong: "It's best not to talk about it, Sir. If I don't want do become insane, I shouldn't talk about it."

It almost made sense, but the wise man knew that trying to thrust this aside would be impossible. Something like that simply couldn't be ignored by those who felt (nobody could deny how strongly the boy felt in general). It would only lead to an unavoidable disaster. However, if he pushed too hard, the boy could be driven over the edge. He would have to work slowly and gently if he wanted to help the child.

There was a moment of silence, then decided to change the subject: "Did I hear you correctly, Harry? You no longer see things from Voldemort's point of view?"

"Yes, Sir," he looked him in the eyes, obviously glad for the change of topic, "I kind of watch everything now."

This would be the moment to call in a certain wizard whose specialty was Occlumency.

"Harry, although I do not believe that Voldemort will ever try to use you again, too great was the pain to have possessed you." the boy shuddered for the first time Dumbledore had known him. He hadn't shown such a reaction in his first year after having been forced to face the murderer of his parents, not when he had slain a basilisk at the age of twelve, not even when he had seen the monster rise from the cauldron. The experience of having been possessed by Tom Riddle seemed to have shaken up the boy terribly, "However, I will not risk your health and life by trying to find out. I will therefore not use Legilimency on you. Would you be ready to resume at least one more Occlumency lesson with Professor Snape?"

Harry's face lost all colour, but the headmaster saw very well that it wasn't out of anger but unaltered horror.

"Professor Snape? Sir, there is no way I… I did a terrible, shameful thing, Sir. I violated his privacy and although I'd appreciate his help, I don't find the words to apologize, believe me, Potions lessons are hard enough… What do I do?" It had only taken the first word for Dumbledore to realize just how much Harry's opinion had changed for he had asked him to call Severus "Professor" for the last five years. Even if he had never read the letters, he would have known something had changed. He wondered what the boy had witnessed to alter his attitude towards the Potions Professor.

For the first time in many years, Dumbledore had hope for his most important boys. Although he knew that the other way around would have been a lot easier since Harry was an exceptionally forgiving soul and Severus could hold grudges that reached even beyond death, he did have hope.

"If you are ready, Harry, I will fire-call Professor Snape, I do not think it wise to leave you two alone outside of class. However, I am confident that he'll be ready to at least control you shields."

The colour hadn't yet returned to the boy's face, but he nodded nevertheless. The headmaster went to the fire-place, threw in a handful of floo-powder and said clearly: "Severus, could you please come to my office for a second?"

He moved back a little, only a moment later the tall man elegantly stepped through the green-coloured flames. At first impassive, his eyes narrowed when he saw the younger boy (though having already known of his presence in the headmaster's office).

He looked over to Harry and to see the usually polite but reasonably confident young wizard look so subdued was painful to watch.

"You asked for me, headmaster?" Severus said, his eyes coldly fixed on the other occupant of the room.

"Yes, indeed, Severus. I do know you refuse to teach mind magic to Harry ever again. However, he has just told me to have tried occluding over the summer and succeeded to some point. Would you be ready to test his shields once again?"

The highly intelligent Potions Master immediately complied with Dumbledore's version of events, obviously having understood within seconds that the headmaster hadn't breathed a word about him having read Harry's letter:

His eyebrows shot up in mock surprise, his lips forming into a sneer. Albus Dumbledore knew that neither the sneer nor the mocking was an act (to his regret), yet it impressed him every time to see his former student's skills as spy. It wasn't the first time he was grateful for the fact the man was on their side.

"I am astonished. Has Potter finally deemed Occlumency to be important enough to spend his time studying it? I must be dreaming." The sneer was still evident, this was definitely no act. Severus' words could cut more effectively than a freshly sharpened sword. When he wanted he could eloquently take people apart by his mere choice of words, it was almost an art. However, the headmaster didn't like it when the potions professor indulged his skilful tongue to tear apart his pupils and had warned him about it in the past. Mostly he complied and kept himself from really hurting remarks, however Jame's son was the exception.

How the young man who could differ friend from foe in a second (a character treat that was essential for his dangerous job) was unable to see that the child had already surrendered he couldn't understand.

Harry stepped forward, opened his mouth: "I…" He breathed in deeply obviously trying to calm down and to find the courage within himself to speak to the other man. It was heartbreaking. Had Albus Dumbledore ever doubted the boy's sincerity in his letters, he now had proof for the contrary. Severus was unaware of it.

"Yes, Potter. Please, tell me what you have to say to me." Sarcasm, more poisonous than a basilisk's fang paralyzed Harry's vocal cords. The older man decided to step in: "Severus, please."

A sharp nod and the man pulled out his wand with a swift move. Couldn't he see Harry's eyes widen? Was he unaware of the child's nervousness? How could the man who was able to anticipate a week ahead of everybody else when one of his Slytherins would suffer from homesickness (and asked his Prefects discreetly to watch after that specific child), be so blind when this boy was concerned?

"Ready, Potter?" He asked, speaking the incantation only a moment later: "_Legilimens_!" It was only the fact that Harry had closed his eyes before the spell had been spoken that kept the headmaster from interfering right that instant. No student was able to shut down this quickly.

What he saw astonished the wise, old man profoundly.

He saw the potions professor's face in deep concentration and Harry's painful expression that appeared as fast as it left, then he slowly breathed out, almost relaxed. Severus' eyes tore open instantly, his already pale skin seemed ashen white. He stumbled a step back desperately trying to recollect himself, he nearly bounced against Dumbledore's desk when Harry's hand gripped the man's right arm faster than eyes were able to follow.

"Are you alright, Sir?" The boy asked, openly concerned, his hand still gripping the other man's upper arm.

Severus freed it with a sharp jerk; he looked darkly at Harry who seemed to have recognized his mistake. The Potions master straightened up, standing in full height, seemingly disgusted. However, Professor Dumbledore recognized the shock in the other wizard's face, but no one else would have been able to see this.

Harry was unable to look the other man in the eyes once again.

"Severus, are you alright? You didn't answer Harry's question." He was angry and made sure to let his young colleague see it.

"Yes, thank you, Headmaster." His voice was void of all emotion. Whatever Harry's shields were, they had shaken Severus so profoundly he had had to put up his own.

"Well, Potter. You have found an interesting way of occluding, you still carry your heart on your sleeve, but you use it against the attacker. It worked the first time. I am not sure how long they will hold, however, if someone tried to break them down repeatedly. You are to meet me every Tuesday evening at 6.30. We will see, then."

Harry's green eyes snatched back up. Was there hope in his eyes? It was hard to tell. He seemed troubled.

"Thank you, Professor," the young man whispered. He looked back to the oldest man in the room: "Is there anything else you wanted, Sir?" Those emerald eyes pleaded, he wanted to be gone.

"No, Harry." When the child already slipped away towards the door, he decided to add: "That was very impressive, Harry. You didn't hurt Professor Snape," the boy raised his eyes clearly telling him that he begged to differ; "They are shields, Harry. Only those who want to intrude will come in contact with it."

An emotion crossed the child's face, was it despair?

"Have a nice day, Professor Dumbledore. Professor Snape."

With those words Harry left. As soon as the door was closed, the Potions Master sat down, seemingly incapable of standing straight. Restless he stood up again and started to pace.

"Severus, I must ask you to treat the boy less poorly. The way you treated him today, is not acceptable. Why can't you see…?"

"Let's not talk about that, Albus. It will only lead to one of those discussions without end or purpose. We have more important matters to discuss." The headmaster wasn't sure of this, but he decided to comply.

"Potter's shields… He…" To see the eloquent man at loss for words was rare, but to know that it had been Harry to have caused this was almost unbelievable.

Severus cleared his throat and said: "When I entered his mind, there were no shields to be felt… At least that is what I thought at first, but as you know, my mind defence isn't exactly tangible either, however… I entered and didn't see anything, no shields but not memories either, then I heard things, felt… I was at Hogwarts, I think. He somehow used the castle as a part of his shields, but I couldn't see it. Then a smell… Albus, he somehow remembers Lily's perfume and added it..." Just like the younger boy earlier there was despair evident in the normally stoic man's expression.

Now he understood why Severus was so shaken up, why he had wanted to escape Harry's mind.

That boy never ceased to amaze him.

"Have you scheduled the lessons because you truly are unsure of the strength of Harry's shields or because you want to understand them?"

"I don't know, Albus."

* * *

Thank you so much for all those who reviewed! You guys made my day!

A special thanks goes to Pellegrina: It was your comment that inspired me to start the chapter the way it started since I too believe that Dumbledore made mistakes. That doesn't mean he did them without a bad conscience.

Next Chapter: _Professor Potter_

This chapter will not be up before the weekend.

Please: Read and review!


	9. Professor Potter, Part One

**Chapter 7: Professor Potter**

_Professor Potter…_

Had he spoken the words aloud, his tone would have had a condescending and sarcastic air.

It was Monday evening, October 14th and Professor Snape had just returned from dinner with his colleagues in the Great Hall. He wasn't in the best mood.

Minerva had just told him that she was having dinner with her little sister Meditrina on Wednesday in Hogsmeade while Filius and Pomona were otherwise occupied as well. He was now obliged to watch Potter's little defence club that evening. The Head of the Gryffindor-house had explained to him that there was no need to be there the whole time ("Potter is doing a good job".). He couldn't help but sneer. As if he would trust Potter to stay out of trouble while it was his responsibility to supervise.

Thinking about those lessons (Minerva had actually started to call them "DA lessons" which annoyed him to no end), he realized he might be able to demonstrate Potter and his little friends that their level was nowhere near the one of a fully trained Death Eater.

He had indicated his intentions at the dinner table and to his surprise didn't only receive a sharp look by Minerva but Filius, too. The Head of Ravenclaw gave it to understand that the level of the DA (he used that expression as well) was very high and he had been impressed by Potter's way of teaching.

Snape had always thought that Professor Flitwick was a rather fair teacher, unimpressed by the attention seeking demeanour of certain Gryffindors.

Potter seemed to have made it his life goal not to do anything by the rule.

Their Occlumency lesson last Tuesday evening had proved that. That lesson had been entirely different from what the others had been before. Well, maybe the phoenix's presence had something to do with it or the reason for the bird's attendance…

"_I don't know." _

_There was moment of silence. Both wizards needed a moment to recollect themselves. What happened just some minutes ago, neither of them had anticipated._

_Snape__ opened his mouth to excuse himself and leave, but the headmaster spoke first: "Have you calmed yourself?" Hearing Dumbledore's voice so emotionless surprised him. Anger suddenly surrounded the older man as if he had just remembered or realized something he didn't like. _

_It was as if Potter's performance had astonished the headmaster as much as him which had caused the other man to forget his anger for a while in order to hear about the shields__, anger that was now back, stronger than before…_

_He looked back at the headmaster almost challenging: "Don't worry it does take more than some of Potter's tricks to put me out of balance."_

"_Stop it." He hadn't heard this tone coming from the headmaster in a long while. Whatever he wanted to say, it wouldn't be a request. "You appalled me today, Severus! Do not dare to belittle Harry at this point; he defended himself from an attack he shouldn't have possibly been able to. The quickness of his reaction told me, he had had to do this before. He had been ready for the assault."_

_He definitely hadn't seen the man so disappointed and angry in a long while. _

"_Tell me, Severus. Last year: How much time did you give him to recollect himself after you probed and before you actually entered his mind?" The answer must have been written in his face. "Did you probe at all?" _

"_It was my assignment to prepare him for an attack by the Dark Lord," he defended himself instead of answering. He didn't like what the headmaster implied, "The Dark Lord would have…"_

"_You are not Voldemort," Albus Dumbledore thundered standing up while the Potions Master flinched at the name. There was that air of power around the normally jovial wizard that made Snape remember exactly who the only person was the Dark Lord ever feared, "I knew it had been a mistake leaving you two together alone, but I thought you would have shown general maturity to at least try to teach him how to occlude." _

"_I tried. He wasn't interested…"_

"_Do not blame him. How could he have? How could he have possibly wanted to learn something from a man who was ready to torture him?"_

"_Torture him? Albus, I protest…"_

"_Yes, torture. When you came to me fifteen years ago you had already known and studied the art of Occlumency, but even then I gave you time when I taught you. I allowed you to recollect yourself, especially when I happened to breach your mind accidently. You remember, don't you? For a week you weren't allowed to another Death Eater meeting, we trained day and night so when you would be looking into Voldemort's eyes again, you could hide your true thoughts. In all that time I never attacked you safe for the last test and you were twenty, Severus, twenty years old." The man's voice was quiet and riddled with profound disappointment. _

"_That brat…"_

"_Severus!" Dumbledore's tone was so sharp, he had to suppress a flinch, "before you say anything about Harry's arrogance, let me tell you something: Today, he was apprehensive, shy even. He looked like a lamb ready for slaughter, at first because he expected my anger and once again when you entered the room. Whoever you once thought Harry to be (and you were under a misconception even then), that person seems to have disappeared. I don't know what he saw over the summer, but…"_

"_Wait! What do you mean… saw?"_

"_The reason__ for his nightmares: He's had visions, but they seem to come more frequently than they were last year. He must have seen multiple Death Eater meetings this summer."_

_At that, Snape felt how all blood seemed to leave his face._

"_Death Eater meetings? But…"_

"_It is as you yourself said: '_Has Potter finally deemed Occlumency to be important enough to spend his time studying it?'._ Yes, I daresay, he did, Severus." The Potions Master was slightly taken aback. He hadn't sounded as conceited as Dumbledore's imitation, had he?_

_He didn't know what to add. He had nothing to say. Had Potter truly been timid today? He tried to remember, but he couldn't. Seeing the boy caused his blood to boil, sometimes to the point he was unable to grasp a rational thought._

"_I trust you with my life, Severus. However, the way you behaved today, as well as your complete inability to read Harry's emotions has made me realize that I cannot trust you with Harry alone. I should have done it last year__, but I decided to have faith in your professional behaviour," a sound escaped the older man's mouth that was dangerously close to a mixture of sarcasm and disillusionment, "Yes. I definitely should have known better."_

"_Well, no more. Fawkes is going to attend to every Occlumency lesson. You two are not to be left alone until he is convinced that you have seen your mistakes and believe me, Severus, if you __consider Molly Weasley or Minerva to be concerned for the welfare of Harry Potter (myself I cannot count for I have made too many mistakes) you will soon learn that Fawkes is even more protective than them combined."_

And that was true. At first he hadn't even been allowed to raise his wand towards his pupil, the bird had put itself between him and Potter. Only on the younger wizard's request it had complied.

_Fawkes appeared in his office at 6.15 pm. They usually got along rather well, Snape being a person with a great respect for phoenixes and Fawkes occasionally __gave him some of his tears for potions. However, the moment the bird had appeared, he knew that today he wasn't here for his defence but was in the role of the accuser or at least supervisor. _

_It didn't take long and a soft knock was heard at the door. _

_He would obey, he would be rational, patient and he wouldn't assault the Golden Boy before the other attacked him. _

"_Enter," he said indifferently. _

_The brat entered. He remembered the headmaster's words about timidity displayed by the young wizard and when the silent "Good evening" was spoken he too decided it wasn't the same kind of behaviour the young wizard had shown last year. _

"_Fawkes!" Potter's shouting startled him a little, he looked at the boy and saw the delight,__ those cursed green eyes glowing, "What are you doing here?"_

"_Though gifted with a high intellect, Potter, phoenixes are unable to reply questions." _

_The brat didn't seem to have heard for he looked at the bird with slightly furrowed eyebrows. Fawkes however had taken notice of his words. With a sharp look its gaze fixed on the Potions Master warning him to go no further with the sarcastic replies. It had been a rather harmless remark and he had to contain himself not to say this to the bird. _

_The boy's __reaction surprised him a little: He caressed the phoenix's beautiful feathers and said quietly: "Hey, Fawkes. It's okay, there's no reason to be angry. Shush my friend." What truly astonished him was that the headmaster's familiar was pacified immediately and he was unable to tell whether it was the words of the brat to calm it down or if it simply wanted to make the young wizard happy._

_The soft sound of the phoenix song __filled the room and though normally causing Snape to let go of all his tension, it was today the reason for the apprehension he felt. The brat on the other hand seemed so much more relaxed all of a sudden._

"_You wanted to test my shields, Sir?" There was no sign of timidity when he said that. But he would contain himself, today he wouldn't react on Potter's provocation, he would be the better man. _

"_At first, Potter, I want to introduce you to the concept of probing: It is not a direct attack on your mind just yet, but a mere touching of your shields or whatever protection already exists at the time. The second I happen to enter your mind, I will retreat immediately." For some reason he actually blinked at the bird for permission while his main focus was on the brat's reaction who mostly seemed confused, "In the end of the lesson, I will test your shields if your performance during the lesson permits it." _

"_Yes, Sir."__ The confusion was still evident; he blinked between Fawkes and the Potions Master. _

_And so they began: The problem was that Potter's way of occluding was impossible to probe. As soon as he tried to find the rough structure of the shield (so he would be able to probe along its borders), his mind suddenly seemed to be trapped in the middle of Potter's mind protection. _

_It was like a maze without walls, confusing him more than anything magical he had come across so far. To be honest, it did scare him slightly. _

_He__ for example heard a soft laughter somewhere but as soon as he turned towards that laughter to examine it further, discover its origin, it was either gone, replaced by something else or not at the same spot anymore. _

_There seemed to be no real layout, nothing solid to grasp with the mind and to hold onto._

_His first impression about Hogwarts being a part of his pupil's shields were correct, but he still wasn't sure what was added and what wasn't. He wasn't even sure why he had recognized the school except for a certain familiarity. _

_Another difficulty for Snape was that he couldn't freely move in Potter's mind since he had to constantly watch his own shields. It vexed him, but last year – when Potter hadn't shown the slightest aptitude in Occlumency – __the brat had been able to enter his mind after having defended his own with a Protego Charm. Only a fool would underestimate the sixteen year old wizard now that he seemed to have grasped certain skill with mind magic._

_Potter seemed to have realized that Lily's perfume caused him to retreat every__ time. It was almost unbearable for him and either intentionally or subconsciously the smell appeared more often the deeper he probed or when he entered the mind anew. _

_There was no way he would ask Potter about it, but the perfume confused him profoundly. Why would __the brat know it? He had created that for Lily in the course of their fifth year, it had been a gift for her birthday. She had loved it, however only weeks later there had been that fateful day at the lake where he had lost his best friend through his own stupidity. Surly, she hadn't kept it? Why would the brat know it anyway, he had never truly met his mother. _

_Realizing __that it was him responsible for that fact caused him less to leave than actually flee Potter's mind._

"_Are you alright, Sir?" The boy asked innocently. _

_What could he possibly have answered: "_No, Potter. I am not, I was just reminded of the fact you are Lily's son, too."_? Except for his oath to protect Lily's child, he never really thought of the Boy-who-lived as anything else but Potter's son: in class, in Occlumency, even occasional encounters in the halls. _

_And now she appeared in the boy's… the brat's mind. _

"A _boy_ to whom it would mean as much as to you if he could see her just once,"_ that nasty little voice just wouldn't keep its mouth shut ever since he had read the brat's letters. _

_He hadn't uttered a single word about __the letters, wondered a little if Potter knew they were gone, but he wouldn't talk to the brat about it._

"_Sir?" Was that worry he had just heard? He had to have been silent for longer than he had thought._

"_You are dismissed for today, Potter," he simply said. He wanted those lessons to end, they confused him. It irritated him more than the brat's usual arrogant behaviour._

"_I though__t you wanted to test my shields before the lesson ended."_

_What little patient he had left was gone and Snape snapped. Swiftly he raised his wand and cried: "Legilimens!"_

Looking back he still didn't quite understand what happened a second after the incantation was spoken: He remembered the phoenix screech, flying up in the air between the two wizards and Potter who cried: "No, Fawkes!", a moment later he had felt his mind colliding with a wall of fire, the defensive magic of the phoenix, his knees hitting the ground hard, the angry bird's eyes seemed to burn.

The boy had called its name one more time, sharper and much more confident than he had heard Potter in a long time.

_(__"It's alright. I was ready. Believe me, in here I always am. It is fine, I am fine. He has to do this or do you really think Voldemort will give me the courtesy and probe before an attack?")_

He had used the same argument when talking to the headmaster, yet out of the boy's mouth it had sounded somehow crueller.

"_I believe it is enough for today, Potter. You are dismissed."_

Without another word, Snape had left the room. The bird had given him a clear warning that day. He would let Potter control the pace of the lessons.

Other than Occlumency he was only forced to meet with the brat in potions. The projects did have an advantage he hadn't thought of before: He could use them as a disguise for the lessons on Tuesdays.

In class he had told Potter that although he had somehow managed to attend to his NEWT class, his level as brewer was too low especially concerning his project. He would have to make an additional effort and was therefore to report every Tuesday evening for another session of remedial potion lesson. Towards his Slytherins he had indicated of hoping that Potter would break under the pressure and would quit his class (without saying so outright, of course) and they had believed it without question. Not even Miss Parkinson or Mr Malfoy whom he considered dangerously attentive seemed to suspect anything.

The projects were fairly interesting. All of them were, he had to admit.

Last Tuesday was the first official lesson his students were allowed to work on their project. All of them were well prepared; Mr Malfoy even already started to experiment with a rather simple strengthening potion which after the adding of dragon hide tripled its potency. He tried to gain the same affect by adding a combination of three different ingredients. The idea was rather good; however Mr Malfoy hadn't known that ginger had to be brewed with a higher temperature in order to gain the desired effect. By raising the temperature on the other hand, the strengthening potion in itself would be ruined since Salamander blood stopped having its binding effect when brewed with too much heat. His sixth year student had been unaware of this, mostly because the influence of heat was a topic he rarely touched in class. Mr Malfoy probably had only read about the catalytic effect of ginger without having read about what temperature was needed for it to happen. In the end of the lesson he had discreetly explained this to his bright student who seemed to have realized that before experimenting one would have to research much more than when brewing a potion by recipe.

All the others had only read and taken notes, except for Mr Zabini who had taken Miss Midgen along with him to work out a general arithmetic hypothesis concerning a potion's flow that they could work on. Occasionally they had asked Miss Granger for advice who admittedly had a truly remarkable intellect especially concerning numbers.

Potter had only written while occasionally taken a glance at the books he had taken along (_Healing Potions – A survey of new-found potions in the 20__th__ century_; _Of Wards And Shields; Experimental Brewing – How to avoid exploding cauldrons; One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi; Base and Acid – Interaction of ingredients (_'Ah,' he thought, 'that is how he knew of the effect of ruminant saliva or LaRica'_))_. Inconspicuously he had looked over Potter's shoulder to see what he was writing: The brat created a timetable for the project along with an 'experimental plan' and a separate parchment with the title 'Important things to look up'.

He had seen a similar concept from Miss Granger and his Slytherins (whom he had advised to do so, however), it was unexpected to see such a system used by the master of trouble and chaos, the son of James Potter.

Tomorrow they would have another lesson to work on the project and against his intentions he was starting to look forward to them, wondering if Mr Blaise would bring along Miss Midgen again, if Miss Granger would already start to brew and how much they all had worked on their project over the week.

* * *

The next morning, after having eaten breakfast rather early he left the Great Hall. While closing the doors he heard a dull _clonk_ behind him warning of Alastor Moody's arrival. For a brief moment the spy wondered how a man that preached _constant vigilance_ on a daily basis could have thought it a good idea to replace his lost leg with wood since because of it the art of sneaking up was grossly restricted.

"Snape," the former auror growled lowly. It wasn't a secret that he didn't trust the Potions Master: Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater! It annoyed Snape, much more so that since it had been a doppelganger two years ago coming to school, he had to go through yet another examination of his office by the paranoid Moody. He avoided the man as much as it was possible, not out of fear but simple exasperation. However, he respected the man for he was a true fighter and fiercely loyal towards Dumbledore.

He didn't say anything to the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, only nodded in acknowledgement.

"What are you doing here so early, Snape?" He had to suppress the urge not to simply roll his eyes at the question.

"Well, usually when one is hungry in the morning at Hogwarts they go to the Great Hall in order to eat breakfast."

The other man looked at him coldly, obviously trying to determine whether he had just told the truth or a lie. This time the urge was almost impossible to smother. His lips were pressed together.

Then they both heard a smashing sound not far away and looked at each other: "_Students,"_ Moody mouthed.

Their quarrel or at least its beginning was forgotten when both walked quickly to the origin of the noise.

The moment Snape wanted to turn around the corner, his shoulder was grabbed hard by Moody causing him to nearly draw his wand out of reflex. He opened his mouth to say something when the former auror hissed: "Quiet. I want to see what they are going to do." His magical eye looked straight through the corner.

Without making a sound Snape moved towards the source of the noise, hiding in the shadows while Moody stood rooted on the spot.

The potions teacher was ready to interfere if necessary, especially when he saw the people involved: Two of his second year Slytherins, Angelica Nott and Phineus Phallandar, were cornered by a group of three Gryffindors, a Hufflepuff and two Ravenclaws, all together third years. The attackers' wands were all out.

"Leave us alone!" Mister Nott's little sister said in a shaky voice. She was scared, her wand, if she had it with her, was forgotten.

"Look at this! Little snakes here and all alone… Death Eater's children soon to become Death Eaters themselves. Lets make them dance," a third year Gryffindor named Alfred Withby sneered raising his wand. For a moment the Potions Master was reminded of the times he had been cornered at school, unfairly outnumbered. It made him furious.

Snape immediately wanted to step forward when suddenly a flash of scarlet light hit Withby's wrist whose wand shot out of his hand into the air. The spell was well-dosed and wouldn't hurt the Gryffindor in the least. Expecting Minerva turning around the corner, her face white, her eyes dangerously narrowed, it dumbfounded him to see Potter arriving. His wand in his hand and those green eyes blazed furiously as he approached the little group.

"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?" The Golden Boy's voice was deadly quiet and almost came out as hiss. Some of the attackers cowered back a little obviously smart enough to recognize the anger.

Kevin, Withby's cousin, however wasn't. Confidently he smiled at Harry: "Nothing. Just teaching a little lesson, you know, a little snake-hunting, if you know what I mean." He had the boldness to wink at Potter.

Snape had seen the brat angry, furious even. Nevertheless, he couldn't remember the last time recognizing such rage in Potter's face. Maybe it was because the anger had always been mixed with loathing. Here, additionally to irritation was disgust which only emphasized the main sentiment. For a moment, the Potions Master could have sworn that the air burnt.

Whatever Withby had said to irate the older student, it hadn't been a particularly smart thing to say.

All the wands that had been at the ready flew from their owner's hands straight into Potter's left. That nonverbal summoning charm would have delighted Professor Flitwick.

Potter hissed loudly for a moment, having been next to the Dark Lord too many times, Snape immediately recognized Parseltongue. The students didn't and all of them draw back a little

"Snake-hunting? Well, it is a well-known fact that I can talk to snakes. Do you want to hunt me, too?" How one could look so furious but speak so calmly surprised the occasionally ill-tempered Potions Master.

Within seconds Potter's face softened when he turned around and looked at the two Slytherins who shrunk a little. "Are you alright?" The caring tone left the children no doubt whom he stood up for.

Both of Snape's pupils nodded staring at the sixth year student.

"Wait," Alfred Withby interfered; obviously feeling more relaxed by Potter's soft tone. "They are Slytherins. Nott's," he motioned towards Angelica, "father was a Death Eater during the last war. My Dad told me."

Potter looked at him indifferently: "Interesting, really." Snape hadn't known that Gryffindor's Golden Boy knew sarcasm. "Well, you seem to be under some misconceptions. Let me explain: First, not every Slytherin is bad, I have found two good friends both coming from Slytherin and there are a lot that I respect and like coming from that house. Second, her father is only said to be a Death Eater, there was never proof of that. Third, being a Death Eater in the last war doesn't necessarily mean to be one in this; some are courageous enough to defy Voldemort," all the children flinched. "Forth, even if her father was a Death Eater, it doesn't mean, that his daughter, wife or son necessarily are. We are not our fathers and we are not our mothers. We only stand for ourselves. Yes, they influence our decisions, some of them causing us to do the same as them, others to do the contrary, but we are not them."

"In your case, maybe. Everybody knows your parents are dead." The words uttered by world's greatest fool named Alfred Withby were followed by an ear-deafening silence. Snape half-heartedly raised his wand to disarm Potter or separate him from the younger Gryffindor if necessary.

However, to his surprise the orphan didn't scream, hurled no insults, he simply turned away and took a deep breath before facing the fool. There was no anger, only a profound sadness that would hurt Withby more than any yelling Potter was capable of.

"You are right. I have no parents to show me their view of the world. When I was first introduced to the wizarding world, I was forced to build my own opinion about everything and I was, probably still am, mistaken about some things such as believing that all Slytherins are bad or that Gryffindors are altogether honourable." The child spoken to shrunk a little.

"Don't judge people for who their parents are. I never would since I've never met mine, but am being compared to them every single day."

He took another calming breath and then said: "You are lucky I am no Prefect, otherwise I would take fifty points from each of you and you would rot in detention with Filch until the end of term. However, I will inform your Heads of House," then he suddenly smiled a rather evil smile, "actually I have a better idea. We should call Professor Snape. I mean, he is the Head of the victims' house." Horrified the attackers looked at the older student. For a moment there was silence and Potter's evil smile morphed into one of profound disappointment.

He shook his head: "You are all to report to my Head of House since the majority of the attackers come from Gryffindor. You will go to her and tell her what you did. When I ask Professor McGonagall this afternoon, I want to hear that six students received detention and were taken points. If you dare to tell her that what happened this morning was anything else but a stupid, cowardly attack on two students, I will report the truth. Professor McGonagall hates liars; she would only punish you worse." The words were spoken neutrally, nobody doubted their truth.

Snape very well knew that having them admit to their wrong-doing was already a sort of punishment since it was shameful.

"Go." Potter said to the attackers who immediately left.

He looked at the two Slytherins, his eyes softening again: "Are you really okay?" They nodded shyly.

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"No, thank you," Miss Nott said. When Potter lifted his hand to say goodbye, she said very silently: "I promised my Dad to talk about you when I happen to see you… Is that okay?" He remained remarkably calm, didn't flinch, didn't show the slightest surprise.

"Sure," he said, and then smiled. It seemed a little forced, but that was not to be noticed by twelve-year-olds.

"I don't think they will harass you again," he told them, "have a nice day!"

He was already halfway around the corner where the others had disappeared a minute ago when the little girl said: "I wished he had never come back. Dad is not the same ever since."

Snape closed his eyes at that, such an innocent comment concerning such a violent matter. He waited for Potter's reaction.

"Me too." The whisper swept across the hall then he was out of sight.

The Potions Master saw Moody who motioned towards a classroom door and swept in (as silently as the _clunk _allowed). Snape followed and closed the wooden door behind him.

"You knew Potter was there." It wasn't a question.

"Of course," the older man answered, "I wanted to see how he deals with injustice that doesn't concern him personally or his friends." It was a rare thing to see the paranoid wizard smile and even rarer for Snape to witness it, however Potter had managed that.

"It's good to see that some of Lily lives on in that boy." The normally rather emotionless spy couldn't help but stare at the no less detached ex-auror. The smile that screwed up the scarred face even worse hadn't disappeared yet.

"What?" Moody laughed, "of course he looks like James, is as fiercely loyal regarding his friends and has his father's iron determination he had required after he had married, but all in all? The boy is so much like Lily it sometimes scares me: When he is angry like this, protecting innocents or because of any kind of injustice? That's her. That smartness which is combined with a true interest at what he's learning? That's her. However, as much as he remembers us of the Potters… I think we sometimes forget he is a person of his own. He made me realize that, today. I didn't know them while at Hogwarts, so tell me: Were they as aware of reality at the age of sixteen as he is? For I could swear that they seemed to me much more like children at the beginning of the war and they grew up less because of Voldemort but that small boy who would survive the killing curse one day."

Snape had never heard Moody speak so much for he was a man of only few words. Seeing him with that thoughtful expression, the scarred features slightly softened and yet sad while remembering countless friends that had died… It frightened the younger man.

He left the classroom without answering desperately trying not to think about the almost surreal things happening that morning.

He was dreaming… He would be waking up any minute.

Tuesday morning, 15th October, was a day to remember. Since it was the first time in fifteen years that Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was late for class.

Those poor first year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws wouldn't forget that morning either.

At ten his NEWTs entered the room. It didn't take long to determine that his Slytherins safe for Mr Zabini were in a rather foul mood.

Pansy Parkinson slammed the door so loudly would she have been in another house, she would have earned detention. Snape wasn't ready to let it pass; he looked at her warningly giving her to understand he detested impropriety. She only jerked with her head towards Potter.

It surprised him a little.

Given what he had seen this morning he would have expected to see at least Mr Nott to be less hostile. Nevertheless, his face was the one showing the most antipathy.

What had Potter done now?

The moment Mr Malfoy slammed his schoolbag on his desk, the Potions teacher decided to find out what was wrong: "May I help you?" It sounded friendly, only his Slytherins would be able to recognize the dangerous undertone.

Mr Nott murmured something under his breath.

"Yes?"

"He should stay from my sister!" The teenager thundered loudly and angrily.

"There is no need to scream inside of my classroom, Mr Nott," Snape warned quietly in return. But the young wizard didn't seem to have heard him; he drew his wand, looking ready to strike.

Potter's wand was out swiftly as well, but he took a defensive stance.

"I only meant to help her. She was being attacked." The Gryffindor was much calmer than his adversary, mentioning Mr Zabini and Miss Granger to lower their wands.

"You stay away from her," Mr Nott's voice shook. Snape stepped forward, but the son of a loyal Death Eater screamed: "You have no idea what danger you put her in! Us all! You don't know what…"

Snape's warningly spoken "Mr Nott" wasn't heard since Potter said sharply: "I know. Merlin forgive me, I know, Nott! _You_ don't know. You are a fool!"

"That would be ten points from Gryffindor, Potter!" Snape interrupted coldly before Mr Nott would give anything away that could cause his father's death.

"I will have no more of this childish quarrel!" Snape hissed. "If I hear another word from any of you, that person will serve detention every night this week."

For a moment Potter looked at him as defiantly as he had used to their first five years inside of this classroom. Never before had he hoped as much for a cheeky retort of the ill-tempered brat. Like this he wouldn't have to attend the dreadful DA meeting tomorrow. Potter seemed to be thinking along the same lines since he decided to be quiet. The brat's anger lingered long into the first lesson, but was later replaced by a look Snape was unable to interpret.

The lessons were spent rather quietly, nobody talked and nobody asked questions.

When the potions teacher left for lunch, he was angry: He had known Potter would ruin his favourite calss. That brat's ability to seek and actually find trouble was astounding.

* * *

Not unlike last week, the bird was in his office before the brat. Today it appeared to be even more apprehensive than last week probably reminding him of how last week's lessons had ended.

"I will not attack him," he assured the phoenix who didn't seem to be convinced. A moment later, a knock was heard and he answered it as always: "Enter."

Potter arrived seemingly nervous though he smiled when he discovered the bird.

"Sit down, Potter," Snape ordered, but the brat kept his position. Coldly he wanted to snarl something when the brat started to talk: "Sir. Before we start the lesson, I wanted to…" The Potions Master's eyebrows rose in a sarcastic manner causing the oh-so-courageous Gryffindor to stop speaking, "…ask you about my project, Sir."

Knowing it wasn't what he had wanted to say, Snape gestured him to continue.

"Carbon is known to have a protecting effect however I find very little in the books I read, Sir. Do you have a tip what books I should consider?"

Trying not to show his astonishment, he answered: "A well-written book is _Potions and Chemistry_ whose author is a muggleborn who had studied Chemistry at Muggle University after having had a wizard's education. It deals with the interaction of elements and magic, especially organic compounds. There is a chapter about carbon and its uses. You can find it in the library. There is also a book written in Latin called _Praesidium liquidus,_ there is no translation of it, however it directly deals with carbon as an ingredient of protection spells and potions."

"I have heard of that, Sir. It is nearly impossible to find a copy of it."

"When have you heard about that book, Potter?"

"In our fourth year, when we were studying antidotes, you once mentioned that the addition of carbon could strengthen the effect of a bezoar, Sir. I read it up since it interested me and I found out that it was also part of certain wandless protection spells."

For the second time in one day, he felt his normally rigid facial expression morph into one of confusion. The brat must have seen it since a small smile was formed: "You said you would test our antidotes by poisoning one of us to determine the efficiency of our antidotes, Sir. That inspires everybody to work hard." That slightly hunted look Snape had seen before, returned on the boy's face, the smile was gone as soon as it had come.

A soft sound coming from the phoenix made Potter relax, breathing in deeply, he sat down waiting for his teacher to start.

He realized immediately that Potter's shields had changed again, almost instantly he was in the middle of the protection, unable to determine where he was. He heard a sound as if someone was eating; disgusted he tried to ignore the noise, but was incapable of it. His mind wandered in Potter's, the fact he was unable to see anything confused him. Mind Magic was built on the pictures: One saw things when entering the mind, he himself fooled the Dark Lord with images. The complete lack of pictures was disconcerting.

He tried to go deeper, almost desperately trying to see something, anything. He felt the atmosphere change… He was about to enter a darker part of Potter's shields.

Then he felt trapped, as if being in a small room that emitted a foreboding feeling, but was unable to see the place itself. He attempted to leave Potter's mind/shields again, but was incapable of drawing back which caused him to become nervous.

"It's alright, Sir. Step out of it. Open the door." He heard Potter's voice inside of him, felt the young wizard's mind presence behind his shields. Snape rushed forward, lifting his hand to open a door that wasn't there. The key to leave Potter's mind was the movement itself.

He was suddenly back in his office, trying to compose himself while breathing slightly faster than he usually would. Potter had managed to enter his mind! His Occlumency shields had been up, but the young fool had gotten past a protection not even the headmaster or the Dark Lord was able to penetrate.

"What was that?" He asked, not referring to anything specific.

"While you were probing you got distracted and lost orientation, Sir. I locked you up so you would be willing to leave."

"Lock me up… Where, in Merlin's name, did you lock me up?"

"The place where things are hidden," was the cryptic answer. Potter examined him with his eyes, obviously assessing, if they could continue.

"Do you want to test me again, Sir?" At the question, Snape tried to measure the honesty of his question and decided he hadn't given him a cheek.

"No, Potter. Your shields are…" Powerful? Scary? Unlike anything he had come across so far? "rather acceptable. I have tested them quite thoroughly and although I have neither understood them entirely nor am sure of how they function, they seemed to be _sufficient_ for what they were built for. However, the headmaster told me, you had visions over the summer." Potter's eyes went wide, panic evident. "So, do you think your connection to the Dark Lord is still existent?"

"I don't think it can be broken," was the careful answer.

"What about your presence at Hogwarts? Have you had visions the last few weeks?" There it was again: That haunted look on Potter's face.

"Occasionally, Sir," Potter could be evasive if he wanted to be. It caused the Potions Master's curiosity to be peaked.

"What kind?" He would find out more about this kind of protection.

"The way they are since I created my shields." Well, if the brat didn't start to speak more clearly they would be here all night.

"That is not an answer to my question, Potter."

The brat's eyes narrowed slightly: "Why would you want to know, Sir?"

"I am here to teach you Occlumency." Potter stood up from the chair before the teacher could say anything else.

"I thought you were here to make sure 'if my shields will hold if someone tried to break them down repeatedly', Sir." The defiance that had been away for so long was back in full force.

Why was he quoted by everybody, lately?

"I need to know more about your shields in order to determine whether they stand a chance against the Dark Lord. To do that, I have to be acquainted with how your protection has changed your visions."

'_It has of course nothing to do with your curiosity,'_ that voice was definitely starting to become annoying.

His words had an effect on the boy: His shoulders slumped, all confidence was gone within seconds. Quietly, unable to keep his teacher's gaze he said: "I am sorry, Sir. I am aware…" Years of practice were the only reason why Snape's jaw didn't drop at the outright apology. His confusion was followed by something that wasn't guilt over the fact he was less interested in helping his pupil than dissecting the riddle that were Potter's Occlumency shields.

"I view things, Sir. I am practically a spectator," while speaking his eyes still avoided his teacher's gaze, "there is nothing I can do." Helplessness was combined with terrible guilt… Although the words were spoken quietly, Snape was aware of the emotions that had caused the boy's voice to crack slightly. He recognized the sentiments since he didn't feel differently while being at Death Eater meetings.

"As long as you remember just that, Potter." He didn't know why he said the words or why the young wizard's tentative and grateful smile would cause his heart to skip a beat.

"Why don't we continue in exploring your shields?" There was nothing else he could think of saying.

After another half an hour of profound confusion and disorientation he left the shields again. They were too strong. There was no way past them. Next week, he wouldn't probe Potter's mind, he would ask him about the mechanics of them. For today, he didn't want to exchange too many words with the brat for he had started to question his opinion of the young wizard, an opinion he wasn't ready to revise.

'He is Potter's son, arrogant and vindictive, having nothing but his fame to dwell upon.' He thought, ignoring the fact that even in his mind the words sounded empty.

Not wanting to irate the phoenix again, he dismissed Potter without an attack on the shields; however he told him that next week he'd test the shields at the end of the lesson. Fawkes sang his beautiful song that caused the potions master to relax.

Before leaving, the boy went to the bird and said almost inaudibly: "Tell Professor Dumbledore thanks for sending you, will you? I really like those lessons…"

With another "Good night" Potter was gone.

Why would the questionable flattering of a student he couldn't even stand cause his breath to stop?

* * *

He stood in front of the transfiguration classroom waiting for Potter to arrive.

He was unsure what to expect of the Golden Boy's Defence club and therefore looked rather gloomy. Luna Lovegood seemed to be unaware of his irritation when she arrived at her potions teacher's side.

"Professor Snape, good evening," she said in her dreamy voice, "Harry asked me to pick you up. Please, follow me."

* * *

Hallo, everbody!

It's been a while, I know.

Thanks for all the reviewers!

As you can see, the chapter is incomplete. I hope I'll be able to update soon. The second part will be Snape watching Harry teach...

Please: Read and review! I hope you like the chapter...

Alex: Reading your reviews is always interesting. I truly appreciate them since you make me think about the characters. I intended to write the Dumbledore's critique towards Snape off-screen (Snape thinking about it, but not the whole scene), however your review inspired me to write the scene and it thereby got a little sharper than I originally intended.

If you wonder: Why not bringing Dumbledore's anger in the last chapter? I wanted to focus on Snape's reaction concerning the shields. The emotional aspect would have overruled this…

As for Harry's backbone… He has one, it's just mainly focused on protecting others. You are right however… He has to learn it wasn't his fault and by doing so will learn to be more confident.

Why is he timid? Imagine two months (by now three, but the summer was worst) of witnessing despair and murder almost every night, at first he was the murderer, later he felt the emotion of the tortures and victims… The fact he isn't completely mad is remarkable. His actions towards Snape are therefore understandable since the man's presence allowed him to recollect himself for which Harry is more grateful than anything… One could even say: Unknowingly Snape helped Harry to stay sane and Harry is aware of that.

By the way, the delayed anger of Dumbledore has another reason (next to the one I implied in the chapter and wrote earlier) and I'm a little ashamed to admit it: Showing Dumbledore angry is so much easier when witnessed by an outsider. I am incapable of catching it right from Dumbledore's point of view and I didn't want to change the point of view in this chapter…

And I must thank you as well: The Fawkes-Scenes I hadn't originally planned, but then I thought that like this Snape has to contain himself without having a third person in the room. I hope you like the idea…


	10. Professor Potter, Part Two

**Chapter 7: Professor Potter (Part Two)**

He had known Miss Lovegood was a member of Potter's club, had even been a part of the group that had gone to the Ministry, but it was still difficult to believe that it was her Potter had sent for showing him the way.

Miss Lovegood's character was impossible to understand, but it was very hard to dislike her. She was extraordinarily bright and though not always completely attentive she was one of the best in his OWL potions class. It had been smart of Potter to send her and not some foolish Gryffindor.

"Are you looking forward to those lessons?" he couldn't help but ask. He had heard Minerva's and Filius' high opinion of Potter's way of teaching, but before he would judge for himself, he would ask for the opinion of the one person among the Golden Boy's friends that would tell the unfiltered truth.

"Oh yes," she said dreamily, "There are many good and excellent professors at this school, but Harry has a way of explaining that makes sense to everybody. He can elucidate a matter in five different ways for he includes all senses. There are some senses he doesn't understand as well, he then asks others, mostly Hermione, to explain."

He didn't quite understand what she'd meant and decided he would know in a short while.

She laughed a little, her tone light and a little distracted: "When he started to give us the lessons he wasn't one of many words, he still isn't, but it doesn't seem as awkward anymore. The knowledge he's acquired over the summer helps him to focus, but he looks a little old sometimes, though his heart is still young."

Yet another commentary he was unable to interpret. Almost glad he noticed that Miss Lovegood stopped next to a wooden door and opened it.

The Potions Master's eyes widened when he looked at an open field, riddled with stones and little hills. The grass was partly cut deep, but there was a cornfield not far away with its plants approximately reaching his hip. The door and wall behind him were still apparent; next to it were mattresses and cushions piled up. To his right however, he saw wooden floor, its area being roughly as large as a classroom without chairs or desks.

That place was truly astonishing.

Miss Lovegood smiled up to him saying without noticing that Potter was in earshot: "I also like the fact, he always changes the room. He adapts it for every single meeting and is always very imaginative. However, the room always has a twist: We usually don't find it until the end of the lesson."

He had to suppress a grin seeing Potter blush and look away for a moment.

Mr Zabini and Miss Bulstrode had stood up immediately seeing their Head of House and both nodded in acknowledgment.

"Good evening, Professor Snape," Potter said politely, "Do you wish a chair or do prefer to stand like Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, Sir?"

"I am in no need of a chair, Potter," Snape had decided to be neutral for the beginning; he would correct them and bring them back to reality later in the lesson.

He looked around and wasn't surprised to see most of the students belonging to the Gryffindor House, youngest being Dennis Creevey, but there were many Hufflepuffs as well which he hadn't anticipated. The other two houses were ill-represented.

Potter continued his conversation with Terry Boot telling her that her friends were naturally allowed to come to the next DA lesson.

The younger Creevey looked apprehensive when the older Gryffindor looked at him: "I don't know, Dennis. Let me think about it during the lesson. I am sure we'll find a solution."

Snape saw the child nod, a little subdued: "Hey," Potter said with an encouraging smile, "Your idea is very good and it actually makes a lot of sense, I simply have to see if it is actually possible." The young Creevey's smile brightened up causing Snape to sneer: Like a dog that had received a praise from his master.

Behind him the door opened and he saw Zacharias Smith and Justin Finch-Fletchely entering, their faces serious. Out of the corner of his eyes he observed Potter whose forehead was furrowed, obviously having picked up the mood of his friends.

"Good evening, you two! Bad news?" He asked seriously. Smith jerked his head indicating that it was not the case.

It was clear that the older Gryffindor didn't believe it.

"All right," Potter said, all children who had been whispering to each other immediately fell silent and looked at their _leader._ It was a bit surprising. Snape had to admit not to have expected the obvious respect Potter's classmates showed him. ('Well, this could be practically called HPFCM instead of DA,' he thought derisively, 'Harry Potter Fan Club Meeting. Their behaviour shouldn't astonish me.').

"Welcome to our sixth DA meeting. Our supervisor tonight will be Professor Snape as I am sure you have noticed." Only Smith and Finch-Fletchely turned their heads. "Today's lesson will be divided in three parts: First, I have finally found a way to practice our Healing Charms which we will do in the first part of the lesson." Snape saw their delight while he himself didn't trust his normally excellent hearing: Healing Charms?

"After that we are going to practice all the new spells that we've learnt the last three meetings and I found an additional spell that we are going to include. The first two parts will take until 7.30," while he spoke, a clock appeared next to the door, "Then we'll have our first practical lesson in tactics that will take until 9 o'clock. Maybe a little longer, maybe a little less, but don't worry you'll be back to your dorms before curfew. Any questions so far?"

All shook their heads.

Potter called: "Dobby!" With a 'pop' that crazy house-elf wearing a tea-cosy for a hat appeared with a bright smile.

He had always felt sorry for the house-elf when visiting the Manor of the Malfoys, Dobby had been one of many servants in the large home. Nevertheless he had been mistreated even more than any of the other house-elves by his masters. It had always vexed him to be incapable of doing anything for the poor lad and had been happy to hear that Dobby had found a home at Hogwarts for Albus Dumbledore was known to be fond of house-elves, supporting those who sought freedom. Snape himself had employed a free house-elf years ago who took care of his home while he was at Hogwarts, Chita, whom he regarded more as the only family he had left than a servant. The Dark Lord had never heard of her for none of Snape's _friends_ knew of her existence. The only ones that did were the headmaster, Minerva, Filius and Poppy Pomfrey whom he had invited to his home. Nobody else knew he had another house but Spinner's End…

With a slight shake of the head, he focused back on the lesson.

"Dobby will be assisting me for tonight." 'Yet another dog, touched by the praise of his master,' he thought coldly after seeing the look of shier bliss on the elf's face, "I went to him for advice since I couldn't really think of a way to practice healing charms. Well Dobby, why don't you explain since it was your idea?"

"Harry Potter, Sir! I thank you. Dobby will explain: In Healer training the mediwizards and witches is not allowed to heal patients, Sirs and Ladies. They uses pig feet to learn curing cuts, they cuts them open and then heals them which is why they come to big kitchens like Hogwarts to asks for leftovers. When Harry Potter came to Dobby he told this and Harry Potter asked to have some pig feet as well for his defence class." With a flick of his fingers a basket full of pig feet appeared next to him, "The house-elves have saved some pig feet for Harry Potter."

The reaction couldn't have been more different. While the male Gryffindors congratulated Dobby for his great idea, Lavender Brown and the Patil sisters screeched. His Slytherins looked at the pig feet with interest but without saying much. The female Hufflepuffs seemed rather composed as well, Ernie McMillan and Mr Finch-Fletchely looked quite ill, Zacharias Smith seemed disgusted.

"You don't really want us to work with those things, do you Harry?" One of the Patil sisters asked (when not seeing them in different classes, Snape wasn't able to distinguish the twins).

"I doubt I would have asked Dobby to gather all those pig feet if I didn't, Padma." It seemed as if Potter could make a distinction between the two, "anyway, the other reason why Dobby is here is that house-elves are well taught by their ancestors in the art of healing since they devote to their house and family. Taking care of illness and injuries is therefore important, especially in a house-hold with children. Dobby will give us a little insight in what house-elves know which is quite a lot and I want you to treat Dobby with the same respect you would treat any teacher at this school. Thanks again, Dobby." The house-elf had tears in his eyes, obviously touched by Potter's words. When the brat had been talking like this he had been reminded of Chita who by now was somewhat a medielf for she had had to heal his injuries more than once the last few years.

Mr Smith went over to the basket and examined it, his nose wrinkled: "That's disgusting. I am not going to touch any of this stuff."

Potter seemed rather unimpressed: "I am not going to force anybody to, especially since not everybody is accustomed to see blood. Any person that doesn't want to attend to this part of the lesson can get over to the wooden floor and practice the spells of last week." Smith, Finch-Fletchely, Macmillan, the Patil sisters and Miss Brown turned around to go, but Potter continued, "But you should do it with the knowledge that this training might save your life one day. Any spell, counter-curse or shield that you'll learn here will help you absolutely nothing after you were hit by a spell and believe me the cutting curse causes terrible injuries."

He went to the basket and took out one of the pig feet examining it thoughtfully: "I know there are people that cannot see blood and I respect and understand those of you who try, but are unable to bare it. It happens; sometimes it even depends on the situation. You can see blood one-hundred times without passing out, but lose consciousness at the one hundred and first time. You'll never know if you don't try."

With this he turned towards the others telling them to take out a foot, then took out a knife and cut his own deeply to the bone. He passed his knife on to the next person. Reluctantly those who had wanted to go away approached. His face screwed up, Smith took out a foot.

"Well, let's revise: What healing spells do we know so far?"

Not unlike in his class, Miss Granger answered promptly: "_Monstrat Fractura_, to find out if a bone is broken, _Ferula et Analgesia_ to put a limb in splints including numbing the pain, the two spells you used on Dennis our first lesson. _Freges_ to cool a sprained wrist or foot, you used that one on Seamus on our second lesson. Then we looked at the healing of cuts like _Cutis Adapta_ when it's a clean cut because of a knife or something sharp or _Cutis purgas et adapta _when it's a sharp cut that was polluted by dirt or anything else. When the skin is so torn there is no way to just attach the skin, you have to clean the wound, then remove parts of the skin that cannot be healed and then heal the wound, it is a so-called Trias Charm: _Vulnus Purgas Granulas Sanas_. The last spell, you said, is only to be used by professional healers, so you taught us: _Vulnus Purgas Coniunges_ to clean and wrap in the wounded limb."

Potter looked at her speechless: "Hermione, your memory is a blessing should I ever lose my notes. Amazing! I know you for more than five years, but your memory astonishes me every time anew."

Snape didn't understand why he would praise the insufferable know-it-all like this or why Miss Granger too would blush at the words. He himself was astonished, too though not only because of the sharpness of her memories…

He of course had a vast knowledge about healing charms and potions for it was him who provided the hospital wing with all sorts of potions from Dreamless Sleep to Skele-Grow, however he hadn't expected the children to know so many healings spells.

"Today, I would like to focus on those spells. If they work well, we will learn new ones, but at first, I want you all to heal a clean cut. The spell is _Cutis Adapta,_ it causes severed skin to be connected again. The Muggleborns among you will be familiar with the principle since most cuts that are made for surgery are adapted like this, not by a spell but by suturing the wound. Those who have no idea what I talking about: Please forget what I said." Potter's little entourage laughed. It hadn't been that amusing, he thought, desperately trying not to lose his annoyed facial expression.

Potter lifted his wand, pointed it at the artificial cut and said clearly: "_Cutis Adapta._" It healed immediately without leaving the smallest scar as if Potter had done it a hundred times. "More important than ever it is that you actually want this. There is a cut and you want to heal it."

And so they tried. The older students learnt the spell remarkably fast, obviously having tried that before only without having anything to practice it on.

The younger ones struggled, especially Dennis Creevey: "Adapta Cuta… No, Curis Adapta… Cutis! Cutis adapt…" A frustrated sigh, "this cannot be so difficult!"

"Are you alright, Dennis?" Potter asked sitting next to the small third year.

"I was able to do it. Last week, I could speak the incantation…"

"Dennis, look at me. It's alright. Forget the foot. The incantation is _Cutis Adapta_."

The young third year looked at the brat and repeated the incantation several times. Suddenly the wound healed not perfectly but well enough, Creevey's younger brother squealed in delight.

"There you go," Potter said, "well done! I had the same problem at first. I was so focused on the cut I completely forgot what I wanted to do."

The younger Gryffindor's eyes went wide: "So you weren't just able to do it?"

To Snape's astonishment Potter laughed merrily: "The only thing I've ever been able to 'just do' was flying, Dennis." The potions professor examined the young wizard and saw that he truly believed what he had said. Watching his two best friends he noticed that they neither rolled his eyes over the pathetic attempt to be modest nor did they look surprised at the words. Heartfelt resignation was to be seen as if this happened on a daily basis despite their efforts for the contrary.

The best would be to simply be prepared for anything from now on. Like this the feeling of being taken aback would lessen. Or so he told himself.

"Harry?" Miss Bones asked and immediately received the Golden Boy's attention. "You are the only one who was able to heal the cut without leaving a scar. What exactly did you do?"

"Madam Pomfrey once threatened to have me move into the hospital wing, Susan. What I am trying to say is that I had to be healed so many times by now, I by now understand the mechanics of the healing spell."

Then he looked thoughtful for a moment and said sharply: "Finite Incantatem!" Except for his and Miss Granger's spell, all the others were countered by the admittedly powerful incantation. Instead of chastising the dunderheads who hadn't thought of sealing the spell, he smiled at his best friend in approval.

She shrugged: "You said last week that Healing Charms can be countered within the first ten minutes after the spell was spoken and that this was used in open combat which is why we should use the Sealing Charm _Sigillas_ unless at a safe location like the hospital wing."

For the second time this evening Potter looked flabbergasted, and then smiled muttering "amazing" one more time. He seemed to be deeply impressed by his friend's knowledge.

He wordlessly gave her the knife to cut open their training device one more time.

"Dobby, before I explain anything further: Tell us how exactly your kin heals."

"We is not allowed to heal wounds with a wand, Harry Potter, Sir. We is getting bandaging material and officinal herb like _Arnica_ when a wound heals badly, Sir. Then there is elven incantations to heal a master when no help is near, Sir, but their power depends."

"On what?" Potter asked obviously already knowing the answer, possibly because of former talks with the house-elf.

"On how much house-elves cares for his masters, Sir." A thoughtful nod without surprise confirmed Snape's suspicions of former conversations with the crazy elf.

Potter thanked him and turned towards his _class_: "Our spells, too, are dependent on how much we care for the wound to heal. Accidental magic proves that since small cuts heal just as slowly as they would non-magically while terribly painful injuries like broken bones can heal within seconds."

Roaring silence followed that explanation. Almost every single eyebrow in the room was raised while Potter looked a little confused: "What?"

"You healed yourself with magic as a child?" Blaise Zabini asked, the normally very calm and composed young wizard didn't seem capable of believing his ears.

The Boy-who-lived seemed a little confused: "I remember once when I was about three years old: I was sure to have broken my left arm since it was in strange angle, however, it healed very swiftly. That never happened to you?"

"I went to my parents with injuries," Zabini answered rather dryly.

Potter shrugged: "Well, the muggleborns among you will know what I am talking about." Judging by their expression, they didn't. The instructor noticed, too.

"Anyway, as always it is important to know what exactly it is you want." A bucket containing dirt appeared next to Potter. He took a handful and let it fall over his pig foot. "The second healing spell we're going to practice is _Cutis Purgas et Adapta_. It's practically the same spell, but first you'll have to focus on cleaning the wound. Don't forget to seal it in the end."

Again the room was filled with incantations and though the wounds healed well, the cleaning didn't come easily to the students. Potter patiently explained and guided them. Half an hour later, all had managed to decently clean and close a wound.

Not unlike before, he praised them all.

"There is one more spell I want you to practice. It shouldn't take long." He raised his wand, pointed it close to the skin of the pig foot and said: "_Reducto."_

All could hear the bone break, the skin seemed untouched. Potter looked up, suddenly serious: "Never forget that every spell can hurt others terribly, so be careful at what you're doing."

"Isn't there a bone-breaking curse used by Death Eaters?" Miss Abbott asked.

"Yes," was the simple answer, "_Ferula_ we will practice next week, today I want us to be capable of diagnosing a broken bone… The incantation is _Monstrat Fractura._"

As he had said at the beginning, they didn't practice the rather simple spell for long. Not ten minutes passed until Potter told them to get towards the wooden floor for spell practice.

"Today I want to repeat all shield charms that we've learnt: _Protego_, the simplest of them all. Its power depends on the power of the caster and is mostly used with rather simple spells. _Deflecto_ is a more difficult charm and it means to return a spell to the attacker. Be careful, this spell only works with certain magic. Spells that intend to hurt you like _Lacero _cannot be returned unless you want to injure the other person."

Finch-Fletchely interrupted at that point: "Wait. I mean when a Death Eater attacks you, you usually want to hurt them, too. Right?"

"I give the question to those who already had to fight for their lives," Potter said looking at his two best friends, Longbottom, Miss Weasley and Miss Lovegood.

Miss Weasley answered: "Not really. The main goal was to survive, not to harm the ones who attacked us."

Smith snorted: "So, you were scared."

Longbottom stepped forward: "Of course she was. We all were." The other boy sneered: "I thought so."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Weasley asked aggressively. Potter looked rather annoyed but well composed as if such discussions happened regularly.

"Well, you didn't seem to have been acting like Gryffindors at the Ministry."

Potter raised his eyebrows, he most definitely looked angry now: "Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Ron and Neville were extraordinarily brave, Zacharias. They shouldn't have been there in the first place, and yet they were fighting bravely. Unless you have been in the same situation you aren't able to judge it."

Smith seemed to have waited for Potter to be involved for he immediately attacked: "And you are never scared. Great Harry Potter! Not afraid of anything or anybody." Maybe, it wasn't such a fanclub after all.

Potter looked as if the Hufflepuff had slapped him. All the others started to shout at Smith, Weasley draw his wand at the same time as the fifth year.

"_Distrahes!"_ Potter shouted sharply. As if pulled back by an invisible hand, both his best friend and Smith were parted.

"Enough! What is the matter with you, Zacharias? You already arrived in a bad mood." With his hands he rubbed his eyes. For a moment he looked as tired as Dream's Colour had alluded. He breathed out with a sigh and continued: "As for what you said… Seeing Voldemort causes my blood to run cold. He's hunted my nightmares ever since the end of my first year at Hogwarts, long before he had regained power. Being scared is the wrong word to describe my feelings when I encounter him. Petrified is a better one. I am… He…" he shuddered desperately trying to compose himself, "I will meet him again. I don't know when or under what circumstances, but I will see him again and we will not be having a conversation. He sees me, he kills me that is all he wants. I am sixteen years old while Voldemort is over sixty and one of the most powerful wizards in the world. I'd be a fool not to fear him."

Whatever Smith had wanted to say, he remained speechless. Snape understood the sentiment. He hadn't expected this from the Boy-who-Lived. He truly hadn't. And yet it shouldn't surprise him.

"Protego, Deflecto," Potter continued his class as if nothing special had occurred, "then _Defendo_, it is a more powerful form of Protego, very good to defend others. It is a spell that can be cast with its manifestation fifty feet away from you. It takes a lot of control to do that, however. I myself prefer Protego since Defendo is a spell that requires visualization of the shield. Then a new spell I want you to learn for today is _Contego_. It's more a ward than a shield that is created by this spell. It's very strong, but difficult. With it you can protect a group of people but be careful about its use since it practically draws a circle: Nobody can get in, but nobody can leave either before the spell is lifted. It is a seventh year charm that solely responds to your magical signature which means it cannot be lifted by anybody else but yourself unless you d… the spell loses its strength over time, however."

Again Potter received full attention; Miss Granger seemed to be as attentive as she was with any other teacher.

"Get into pairs and start. I'll walk around."

While the others went to the training floor, Dobby went to Potter: "Harry Potter, Dobby is leaving now, Sir."

"Alright, Dobby. Thank you very much for coming tonight and thanks for the feet."

"You is welcome, Harry Potter. Dobby likes helping the great wizard that is Harry Potter." The "great wizard" blushed so deeply, his skin-colour suddenly resembled the Weasleys' hair colour. With a 'pop' the house-elf was gone.

"The little guy likes you," Mr Zabini observed. It was rare to see the thoughtful young man smile so openly. If even possible Potter blushed even further and all of a sudden he looked like a young child, especially when he timidly smiled at Zabini who laughed a little. It was hard to believe that they were here training for a war.

To his great surprise Miss Bulstrode had paired up with Longbottom while Miss Lovegood was the Partner of Mr Zabini. It had taken him three days to convince the newly-sorted Slytherins to sleep in separate dorms six years ago. He remembered their endless discussions.

Miss Bulstrode's mother was Mr Zabini's father's twin sister. They had grown up practically next to each other and the mothers were best friends since they were but small children. These days they lived on the same large estate only in different houses. They'd practically grown up as sister and brother, a deep friendship connecting the cousins.

He remembered how scared Miss Bulstrode had been when Zabini was sorted, she had been so afraid they could be sorted into different houses.

They were nearly inseparable and when there had been the order to team up it had always been them to be a pair. He wondered how Potter had managed to team them up differently and more importantly why they seemed to be very content with the alternative.

Why Longbottom of all people? Miss Bulstrode would never learn anything with the idiot. Mr Zabini and Miss Lovegood he thought an interesting and wise choice.

They started to practice. Potter had told them to attack alternately with the stunning spell, disarming, _Furnunculus_ and the impediment jinx.

A short time later the room was filled with incantations. Potter moved among the pairs rather elegantly, blocking spells (wordlessly) that went astray nearly hitting him. Minerva had told him of Potter's ability to see through the eyes of an instructor, looking at his friends as pupils not comrades, but to actually see it was a different experience.

("Ginny be careful with that stunning spell, your aim is a little off.")

("Well done, Zacharias." – Why would he praise a person who had nothing but ill words for him?)

Longbottom struggled with the new Contego-Charm, he was unable to draw the shield. Potter was instructing the Creevey brothers, so Snape decided to step forward.

"Longbottom, I've been aware of your clumsiness ever since the first day you attended to my class, however I've always been under the misconception that your disabilities are limited to potions and transfiguration. I am not sure whether to thank you or not for proving the contrary." The sneering tone of his voice was heard by every single member of the DA. Longbottom fretted and managed to miss Milicent Bulstrode with his stunning spell, nearly hitting Macmillan who had stood only few feet away hadn't Snape cast a silent Contego Charm of his own to protect the Hufflepuff.

"Your incompetence astounds me everyday anew, Longbottom. It is a miracle you even manage to hold your wand." As if on cue, the idiotic boy stumbled back.

"Fear does that to you, Professor," Potter suddenly stepped in between his friend and the Potions Master. He than turned his attention to Neville: "You are doing well, Neville. Why don't you practice the spells from last week? I'll be right there with you to look at Contego." He looked in the eyes of the timid boy and laid a hand on his left shoulder. Longbottom seemed to straighten up under the touch, looking much more confident.

"Professor Snape, may I have a word with you, please?" That wasn't defiance; it wasn't the usual expression of loathing, either… Potter looked angry and… disappointed?

He mentioned the others to keep on with their practice.

They walked away; Potter raised his wand and murmured a _Muffilato Charm_. Their conversation would be private.

"Sir, do you not like the way I teach?" Snape furrowed his eyebrows in return.

"Why, Potter? Can't you take criticism?"

"That is no problem, Sir. However, if you have a problem with anything going on I want you to come to me." Potter always seemed short to him, right this moment he seemed a little taller, standing upright.

He wouldn't be frightened by sixteen-year-old.

"Really, Potter? I didn't know you were in charge."

"Actually, I am, Sir. Professor McGonagall accepted the fact this club was lead by a student. The supervisor's job is to make sure that nobody gets hurt and everything is in order… It is not the supervisor's job to chastise or belittle a student, Sir. If you believe I teach them wrongly you of course can tell this openly in class while being as scathing as I know you can be on regular basis. I will not have you belittle them. Besides, _Contego _is a new spell. Neville tried it ahead before I said anything more about it since shield spells are his specialty." Snape stared at the brat sneering as well as he could muster. The speech had impressed him, beside himself.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for impertinent behaviour," he hissed between his teeth.

"I am sorry, Sir. I meant no disrespect. Let me speak to you frankly: You are a good instructor, especially with the skilful potions students. You let us work independently which is a truly wonderful idea, but you completely lack in having patience with those who struggle. Neville has a sense of smell that is remarkable, he could have become a great brewer, but I doubt he'll ever touch a cauldron again. And he is a fantastic student. I will prove that to you."

This time Snape didn't take any points for Potter turned around lifting the spell. He walked back to the group and watched them practice. The potions professor stood rooted on the spot.

A keen sense of smell? Longbottom? It was hard to imagine, but he'd be quiet for now and watch patiently.

"Anybody already tried _Contego_?" Longbottom timidly lifted his hand, as did Miss Granger. Her face displayed frustration.

"Let me demonstrate it first." To Snape's astonishment, several earmuffs and eye bandages appeared. Without hesitation all of them picked them up.

"Professor Snape could you please send a _Reducto_ towards the cushion that lays over there?"

With his eyebrows raised, he pointed his wand at the cushion and nonverbally did what Potter had said. Before his spell hit Potter's cushion, the young wizard cried: "_Contego_!" The attack was absorbed by the shield, the cushion undamaged.

"Thank you, Sir. We will repeat this exercise five times, if that is alright to you." Snape only nodded and raised his wand again but Potter lifted his hand telling him to wait.

The students picked up the earmuffs and put them on. Bewildered Snape looked at the Boy-who-Lived who nodded. Not quite understanding what the meaning of it all was he casted the spell that was countered by Potter's shield.

They repeated the lesson five times. Each time the children did something else: At first the earmuffs, then the eye bandages, then both. At the fourth time they all followed Potter's wand movement while the last time each did something else: Miss Granger, both Weasleys and Mr Zabini put on the earmuffs (most of them did), Longbottom including the eye bandage, Miss Lovegood only the eye bandage, Miss Bulstrode followed the wand movement. It was rather strange to watch.

Potter seemed unfazed.

He closed his eyes and within seconds all devices disappeared.

"Does anybody want me to repeat it?" All shook their heads while some seemed confident, others a little more hesitant.

"As always, the visual ones among you gather around Ron and Hermione. They will be able to instruct you far better than I am."

Half of the DA ('Fantastic,' he thought sarcastically, 'When have I started to think of this rebellion group as DA?') followed Miss Granger and her hopefully-soon-to-be-boyfriend who started to practice.

The others trained a little closer to Potter. Nevertheless, the boy… (brat!) supervised them all, giving hints.

"_Contego_," much more confident than before Longbottom spoke his incantation. This time Miss Bulstrode's stunning spell was absorbed by the shield.

"Yes," Potter exclaimed merrily, "well done! How does it smell?"

Longbottom laughed a little: "It's hard to explain, a little like wood that stood in the rain for too long. How does it feel?" Potter smiled: "Like a blanket that is put around you on a winter's day."

Not for the first time this evening, Snape nearly lost composure. He understood what Longbottom talked about. Spells smelled, every single incantation was a little different from the other, Snape differentiated them through eyes and smell, but Longbottom?

For the first time in fifteen years Snape doubted his way of teaching. Could that timid, shy boy have been as a great brewer as Potter said? Had he been more attentive, would he have picked up Longbottom's flair for smells? Would he be in his NEWT class these days?

Thinking about it he knew that he couldn't have helped the Gryffindor for he was after all a spy and the Longbottom's were so-called blood-traitors. Still…

Snape tried to clear his mind by shaking his head.

For half an hour they practiced the new spell and while none of them truly mastered it, it was remarkable how strong it already was. Not few adults struggled with this kind of spell.

Potter clapped his hands to get his friends' attention, the wooden floor disappeared.

"So, today will be our first practical in tactics, so please have patience with me." The others smiled at the suddenly a little shy young man.

"At first, we'll just practice and then we will look at what has to be improved."

He stood before them, looking serious.

"It is highly unlikely for you to ever meet Voldemort face to face; if you do it's very likely you will be terribly out-numbered. For tonight I am going to be _him_ and I want you to attack me separately." He lifted his wand and casted a jet of green light, "as soon as this spell hits you, the next can come since I want you to look at it as the killing curse. Notice that it is slightly slower than the actual spell, but there is no better alternative. This," a jet of yellow light left Potter's wand, "is the equivalent of Cruciatus. I will bring into play tricks Death Eaters and Voldemort use, so be attentive."

"What if we beat you?" The disrespectful behaviour of Smith started to annoy the Potions Master. Potter smiled: "That person will have to deal with Professor Snape."

The shier look of horror on the students' eyes caused the insufferable brat to actually laugh while 'bat of the dungeons' struggled with his composure. "If this is alright to you, Sir?"

The experienced wizard could only nod which didn't go unnoticed by anybody.

"Let's start! All the others please sit right next to the door." He walked into the field that seemed to be their new training place. While Potter walked he looked secure, but Snape simply didn't have the heart to think of it as arrogant.

Miss Granger came first. Her wand lifted, her face displaying deepest concentration when facing Potter.

"This isn't a duel," Potter explained, "think of it as a fight to the death. Don't believe anything you hear."

Miss Granger understood the hint and immediately attacked with a stunning spell, but Potter deflected it nonverbally immediately attacking with a green jet of light. The second she kept her position to shield it, she already knew she'd lost.

"Stupid," she murmured as she walked back, "trying to shield an Unforgivable. So stupid." She definitely was angry with herself.

Potter stood there, not arrogant but completely focused.

His best friend was next in the line that had been formed by now. Instead of attacking directly he ran towards one of the hills nearby while abruptly jumping from one side on the other. It was an impressively tactical approach from the normally foolhardy Gryffindor.

Potter laughed silently and cold: "Trying to outrun me, Ronald Weasley?" The other one stood rooted on the spot when Potter's "killing charm" hit. They stared at each other and the red-haired boy smirked a little, shaking his head obviously having understood his mistake to react to the taunting.

And so it went on, it was obvious the others didn't stand much of a chance against Potter, his taunting was rather soft but it was enough to disconcert them. Miss Weasley had been rather impressive. She was actually able to hide in the cornfield, but Potter conjured a snake thanks to _Serpensortia_ and sent her into the field. Only a minute later they heard a shriek and Potter instantly hit the spot with his curse. Miss Weasley came forward while the snake followed; she looked ashamed and furious at the same time. The Parselmouth had obviously given the order only to find but not to kill.

When Mr Smith stepped forward, Snape briefly wondered how terribly the constantly criticizing boy would be treated by Potter and was surprised to see that he wasn't taunted more harshly than his friends.

Smith came forward immediately attacking with green sparks and yelling: "If you were Voldemort, I would simply try to kill you."

Within seconds a rock appeared between them and when the "killing curse" hit, the Boy-who-Lived casted a shield while the rock exploded (impressively alike to the way _Avada Kedavra _managed to destroy stone). While Potter was away far enough to only be hit a little, Smith would have been hit by the blow if his opponent hadn't cast a _Contego_. At least the Hufflepuff had the sense to recognize his defeat. He looked furious, but unlike the others not with himself but with Potter.

Then his Slytherins came. Proudly he could see Miss Bulstrode being untouched by Potter's taunting who quickly changed tactics by praising her. This threw her off balance and a moment later, their fight was over as well.

Last was Mr Zabini who had the advantage of having seen Potter fight several times by now. He immediately took cover behind a hill, destroyed the snake that was sent at him and managed to send some impressive spells towards his opponent. For a moment it looked as if Snape would have to fight his clever pupil, but then the Boy-who-Lived answered to Mr Zabini's _Furnunculus _with a disarming charm that caused the pupil to be thrown back, his wand lost.

"I think we both know what kind of spell he'd have used," Potter said quietly.

There was silence for a moment before everybody questioned Potter about the tricks he'd used while fighting.

"First of all, before we analyze this, let me explain: I am not suddenly all-powerful. Since I created this training room I can change it the way I want which is why the rock appeared and exploded like this. However, that was a realistic demonstration of what Voldemort does when attacked by the killing curse. I've seen it last summer." He didn't elaborate, but clearly he alluded to the fight between the two most powerful wizards currently walking this earth, "Avada Kedavra cannot be shielded, but you can make it hit something else instead of you. The same goes for the Cruciatus, not for Imperius though. That one can even work through walls. The Unforgivable respond to power: The stronger the caster, the more powerful the charm. What I want to say is that the rock I 'conjured' without any magical enforcement would have been burst by a spell of Voldemort and you would have been dead, still. So, just don't get hit."

Again there was a moment of silence.

"My taunting took the first ones of you aback, but I was proud to see that you stopped taking it seriously very quickly. I played on your weaknesses, which is exactly what Voldemort would do. He's got a unique ability to break people through the shier power of words; he senses their weaknesses and uses them for his advantage. He can torture you as well as seduce you." Snape had to look away knowing precisely what the young wizard meant. "He told me once that there have always been those willing to let him into their hearts and minds and he knows exactly what to say to do it."

"And you are immune to that." This time Snape had to contain himself not to snarl at Smith to finally keep his mouth shut.

"He never tried. He killed my parents." The answer was simple, but the teacher very well noticed that Potter wasn't foolish enough to claim himself to be "immune to darkness". As long as the boy knew that, he would never turn dark.

"The things I said were rather soft. Nevertheless, I want you to look within yourself and to realize all the things I could have said. I wouldn't, but he would." He looked at Mr Longbottom while saying this. Snape had very well noticed how careful Potter had chosen his words around the boy, yet he was right: The Dark Lord would use Longbottom's parents and his low self-esteem to break the boy. The facial expression of his former potions student indicated that he recognized it as well.

"Blimey," Mr Zabini exclaimed. Shocked everybody (including his Head of House) looked at him, "it's a good thing you use your talents to heal and not to hurt, Harry."

"I don't heal…" Where had the confident boy gone? Watching Potter was suddenly like looking at a small child that was unaccustomed to praise.

"Rubbish," Weasley said, "Blaise is right. You demonstrated tonight how well you not only know us, I mean Hermione and me, but how well you know everybody in the DA, yet you never taunt us when we don't work things out as fast as Hermione, for example. You don't want to hurt us, _they would_. Thanks for reminding us." Confirming mutters were heard from the others. The grateful look on Potter's face indicated how terribly insecure he had been about how his taunting would be received by the others, especially his hot-headed red-haired friend.

"You've got a great tactical mind, Ron," he said, "There is a reason nobody beats you in chess. I wanted to take you aback by pondering on that talent since you respond to insults the same way you do to unexpected praise: You freeze."

The other nodded. Usually he would have blushed; now he looked thoughtful.

Potter addressed them all: "Are you interested in those practical exercises in tactics for I thought about alternating between practice and theory every other week?." They all seemed eager, their answers were all in the affirmative, "You have done well tonight. Does anybody have a problem or is there something you want to include in the next lesson?"

"There is no chance, we can practice the Patronus on Dementors, is there?"

"I am afraid not," Potter answered, but then Miss Weasley said: "Why don't you catch a boggart?"

The slightly older boy laughed a little, it sounded hollow: "I'm afraid that Dementors aren't the things I fear the most, Ginny."

"What do you fear the most?" Was Macmillan intentionally dense?

Potter didn't seem angry, rather thoughtful: "These days I fear many things, Ernie. What I fear the most is a form the boggart cannot take." The cryptic answer caused the Potions Master to become curious.

"Anything else?"

Only the young Creevey nodded.

"I think your idea has value, however I don't want any younger members in the DA." The boy's face fell, "I thought about it during the lesson and I think I found the solution. I'll ask Professor McGonagall if it is possible to establish another club for the classes up to third year. They will only learn defence spells, disarming and other minor incantations. The club would be lead by the members of the DA."

The boy looked even sadder: "But I am…"

"Merlin, Dennis, no!" Potter laughed a little, "I would never banish you from the DA. You are our youngest, that is true and therefore you are the little brother of us all. We won't abandon you." Within seconds the young Creevey brightened up blushing deeply at the same time.

With an intense smile the instructor of the DA looked at his pupils wishing them all a goodnight and thanking the Potions Master for his presence.

When Professor Snape opened the door to follow the majority that had already left, he saw Smith approaching Potter menacingly. He decided to stay.

"I need to talk to you." The fifth year said coldly. The boy (_brat!_) nodded and gestured him to speak.

"Why did you attack Kevin this morning?" Potter seemed honestly confused: "Kevin?"

"Kevin Withby, a Hufflepuff, you frightened them by speaking Parseltounge. He now serves detention with Mr Filch for the rest of the week."

Confusion morphed over realization to suppressed anger within seconds: "You mean Withby, the third year Hufflepuff who outnumbered a pair of two second year Slytherins together with his friends? He acted cowardly and I didn't really frighten them, I simply meant to stop them from bullying those two kids."

"Bully them? Harry, those are Slytherins," said Justin Finch-Fletchley who had approached them, too. Snape knew that he was friends with Withby despite the age-difference.

Potter looked taken aback: "Slytherins? You think this explains it?" Far angrier than he had been with the third years he stared at his friend. "There were six of them, altogether a year older than the two whom they have attacked! I don't care what house they go to or who they are. Outnumbering people who are younger or attacking people weaker than you is not only unfair, it is despicable. Those people are bullies!" He looked at the two with a look that would have received admiration from a Basilisk. "You might think that I grew up with people who worshipped the ground I walked on, but you are wrong. Being outnumbered, your escape route cut off, awaiting the humiliation is a feeling I know exactly how to relate to. Those two Slytherins are acquainted with the sentiment, too. It's terrible and makes you feel completely powerless. I…" It was the first time, Snape ever saw Potter truly distressed: His hand was over his mouth, obviously trying to contain himself, "it's not right and your friends did just that. I hope they see reason and apologize for what they did." For some reason he smiled as if being reminded of something good, "they might be surprised how much it means to the ones whose power they had taken away."

At that, Snape didn't need to listen anymore. Smith wouldn't attack Potter, he looked as flabbergasted as he felt.

Desperately trying not to think, the Potions Master left the Room of Requirement walking towards the dungeons.

With that small speech, Potter had managed to completely rip apart Snape's view of him. He had been wrong about James Potter's son… So terribly wrong. That boy was Lily, maybe not by looks but by heart. The headmaster had told him so, Moody had told him so, Minerva, Poppy Pomfrey, and even the phoenix had, were the bird able to talk.

He halted in his steps, putting his Occlumency shields into place to get hold of his confusion.

Thousands of questions ran through his mind, leaving only one big question:

Who was Harry Potter?

He knew the boy for six years, but was completely unable to find the answer.

Snape continued his journey towards his office and in order to divert his thoughts, he focused back on the DA lessons…

_Professor Potter…_ Had he spoken the words aloud, they would have sounded rather thoughtful.

* * *

Hallo, everybody!

I am sorry for not adding a new chapter yesterday, but I didn't find the time.

Thank you soooooo much for the reviews! I received 9 - NINE - reviews for one chapter. That was great

I really hope you like the second part of this chapter as well. It's an important one since Snape realized that he was wrong... I hope you don't think I rushed it.

I hope you also liked the DA lesson... It was fun to write but I don't know how you feel about it...

Next Chapter will be: _Chapter 8: The Unspeakables _(It's a special chapter, you'll see...)

Please, tell me what you think!

Alex: When Snape is on a Death Eater meeting, he completely shuts himself off thanks to Occlumency which also mean that no emotion emits from him. From Harry who in his visions feels the victims' despair and the torturers' pleasure, it must be like a vacation to stand right next to someone who doesn''t seem to feel at all. Have I answered your question? And by the way: Thank your very much for the review!


	11. The Unspeakables

**Chapter 8: The Unspeakables**

He wasn't sure why he always returned here.

The place that was forever denied to him… The place of his greatest triumph and failure…

And yet, they always met here, he even lived here when rest became an unavoidable necessity to walk the path of greatness.

Without making a sound, he walked down the stairs, his cloak unnaturally still as he glided so calmly it was almost as if he didn't move at all.

Soon it was time. He had finally found it, the items to destroy the old coot and the insufferable brat as well as every other person that dared to stand in his way. Soon, he would tell his followers, although they didn't deserve it.

Those cowards…

They had disappointed him so many times in the past, he would never trust them again.

Without having to lift his wand the doors opened and he stepped outside into the cool air. His nostrils that were nothing but slits widened when he sniffed. It would rain tonight; clouds had already stopped the stars from shining.

His sharp eyes glided over the village of Little Hangleton to see that all lights were out and even if any of the fools were awake they would never be able to see what occurred tonight. The muggles would never know what honour it was to stand near him.

As silently as he had stepped down the stairs he moved across the garden, his feet seemingly not touching the ground. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Wormtail approaching, crawling like the animal whose name he had received.

It annoyed him to have this coward polluting his presence and yet he was patient. Wormtail might be of use for him in the future as he had been in the past… For some reason Harry Potter had spared his life, though he would never understand why.

Potter was the world's greatest fool only to be topped by his insufferable mentor Dumbledore.

Thinking about those two made his blood boil, like poison their names coursed through his veins.

"My Lord," the worm squeaked, "you summoned me, my Lord."

Tonight the sycophant seemed even more unbearable than usual.

"Wormtail, I am neither senile nor stupid," he hissed quietly. "Had I not summoned you, I would ask you why you are here." His servant bowed deeply in a feeble attempt to apologize.

He cast the _Silcencio_ spell nonverbally so he wouldn't have to bear the sounds of meaningless pleading for forgiveness.

He gestured him to hold out the arm that was covered by the Dark Mark. He laid one of his long, ashen fingers on his sign that soon turned deepest black. Thanks to his charm he wouldn't have to listen to the annoying screeches of his servant, either.

It only took seconds until they all appeared around him, on their knees to greet their master. Solely the spy would arrive a little later.

Ah, Severus… The only one with whom he was able to have intellectual conversations about the world without having to talk about meaningless torture as with Bella or about the constant pressing for blood-purity as he had to with Lucius. Both of them were very useful, mind you, but all he was interested in was power and his never ceasing quest for invincibility that would lead his way to eternity.

By now they were kissing his robes, he ignored them awaiting his favourite toy. Bella didn't leave his feet. He didn't exchange a word with her; she had disappointed him too gravely.

There he was, the tall wizard appearing in the darkness about fifty feet to his left. Silently and less obtrusive than his fellows he approached, apologizing quietly for his delay when he too bowed to kiss his robes. All movement was done slowly but without hesitation. Yes, his favourite follower indeed.

"Welcome Death Eaters," he whispered with the knowledge his voice would carry on and be understood.

Nagini appeared at his side telling him quietly of her successful night when she was out hunting.

"Tonight, I have wonderful news," at that they all looked at their master eagerly, "I have finally found a way to give you some of my knowledge and power." Their eagerness turned to a mixture of greed and gratefulness, they all shuddered, however nobody spoke a word. Bella was still at his feet.

"As you know I have studied magic more thoroughly than any other wizard or witch walking this earth. I travelled long, met hardships on the way; however I sought and found power. It has been many years now that I have mastered all arts of magic and lifted them to an entirely new level."

He stopped in order to hear of his own greatness which promptly came by the worm and Bella, instantly the others followed. Out of the corners of his eyes he could see Severus bowing deep without saying a word though. The young though nevertheless best brewer in Great Britain would indulge him later while he would report the plans of the old fool as he always did.

"One day, I was rather young still, I encountered with a power that was so strong, it was almost unbearable."

"Even for you, my Lord?" Bella breathed. A quiet, cold laughter escaped him causing another shudder from his Death Eaters.

"I was young, Bella," he said and thereby explained everything. The power he had encountered wasn't overwhelming anymore; it was just power like anything else that only had to be controlled.

"Have any of you ever heard of what is called the _Indicendi_, those that cannot be spoken, the Unspeakables?" He asked. With a lipless smile he saw the ever-calm Severus losing his composure gasping, his eyes wide. Yes, the Unspeakables would do that to you.

It wasn't only Severus, Lucius seemed to have heard of them as well, but his eyebrows were furrowed as if trying to remember what he must have heard long ago. Bella started to laugh in delight, still sitting at his feet.

All the others were clueless of course; Nott looked up carefully clearly never having heard of them, the worm was oblivious as well.

"I see only those of you who have truly studied the Arts of Darkness know them. It is a pity there are so few of them, isn't it, Severus?"

His faithful spy had regained his composure and sneered a little, but his black eyes, normally resembling dark tunnels, glittered a little.

"I cannot say that I am surprised, my Lord," was the answer to the rhetorical question, causing him to laugh once again. It sounded cold, a freezing breath that would put fear into those who dared to stand in his way.

"Neither am I. Let me explain this to you, my fellow Death Eaters. The _Indicendi_," this time he saw Severus shudder slightly almost as if someone had dared to speak his name and he was right. One day, everybody would know of their existence, however nobody would dare to speak about them, "the Unspeakables have had their origin long ago but were brought to their true power not so many years ago."

Once again he stopped to talk; they all were focused following each of his movements.

"Their roots are in the five elements of magic: earth, water, air, fire and spirit. Their purpose however is not to overpower any of the elements and enslave them to your will. They call the elements within your enemies."

With a flick of his wand he pictured them a view of the elements at their height of power: "Forget about avalanches crushing down from the mountains, the flood, the cyclone rushing over the plane or the bush fire burning anything that dares to stand in the way. We cannot control this. But imagine using the power of earth to crush ones bones at wandpoint causing more terrible pain than any bone breaker curse could manage. As soon as you lift it the bones will repair themselves but so it be your will, you may turn their bones to dust. Imagine the power of water when you literally turn blood to ice, let them bleed from the inside or stop the blood flow through sheer force of will. Do not forget the air while you take their very breath or you steal the oxygen from their bodies. With the power of fire you can control the body heat burning them from the inside out."

He was quiet for a moment seeing a mixture of horror and desire in their eyes. Oh, he had them. They were like puppets to be ruled by the master, all of them responding to power.

"And then there is the fifth form and only few of you will be able to use it." He looked at Severus who once again was calm. It was remarkable how much composure he could gather at moments like this. All the others would have broken down. "But those of you who can, oh imagine… You will learn to whisper in the ears your victims driving them to insanity, faster than the Cruciatus curse would ever be able to. You will learn to control the mind, erase their memories by spells that cannot be broken or cause a headache far more terrible than anything you can envision."

Bella looked at him, bliss visible on her face not knowing that her fragile mind wouldn't last a second when trying to use the fifth and most powerful of the Unspeakables.

He once again watched Severus. Yes, he would be able to learn the fifth of the Unspeakables. It was sad to think that he wouldn't be able to use it for his plans. Potter was out of Severus' reach since the old coot kept close watch so driving him into insanity would not be possible. Dumbledore himself was a different story… Naturally adapt at all kind of magic, his way to occlude caused immunity to the fifth curse. Teaching it to Severus would be of use one day when his spy could finally show his true face to the fool.

He then decided to continue: "There is a reason why they are called Unspeakables: Whoever says the incantation aloud, will die. Therefore to teach you this incredible feat of magic I will use a unique form of Legilimency on you, one that allows me to give you the information through your mind."

They all seemed eager, but only few would be able to use the knowledge: "It will take time until you are able to use this kind of magic. Some of you will never be." He looked down at the worm.

"It will hurt. There are those among you who will lose consciousness. When you awaken, you shall leave."

Without any other warning, he focused and within a second's time, the knowledge passed and his Death Eaters fell to the ground.

A triumphant smile was to be seen on the lipless face. Nobody would be able to stop him. Not even the old coot or the brat.

Miles and miles away, Harry Potter woke up with a start. This was not good.

* * *

So, yet another chapter! It's a short one, I know, but essential for the story I write. I hope you like it.

Before anything else:

A BIG APPLAUSE and AN EVEN BIGGER THANK YOU for Nymphadora Potter who has decided to be my Beta. I officially thank you once more :-) You've really helped.

Next Chapter: _Chapter 9: Halloween_ (it's not only about the 31st...)

Now to the reviews: Thank you! I love reading your reviews. They really make my day.

Hobesan: For now i haven't any romance planned, I think Harry has his mind otherwise occupied at the moment, it wouldn't really be fair for the girl...

Pellegrina: Ich hoffe der Titel war nicht zu vielversprechend und das Kapitel selbst hat dir gefallen :-) Übrigens zu einem früheren Kommentar von dir: Ich schaue ab und zu ein paar Minuten Fussball, hoffe dass die Schweiz gewinnt, aber wenn nicht, dann ist das kein Weltuntergang :-) Wenn man meist in den Achtelfinals oder früher rausfliegt, lernt man die WM an sich einfach zu geniessen...


	12. Halloween, Part One

**Chapter 9: Halloween**

Usually, when Snape came back from a Death Eater meeting, he stepped through the floo in a worse mood than he had left, snapping at anything that dared to step in his way.

Today he stumbled into his quarters, barely able to breathe. As soon as his feet touched the carpeted floor, he fell on it, his knees hitting the ground hard.

This was his punishment for the choices he had made years ago. He just knew it. Unlike his _fellow Death Eaters_ he didn't suffer a terrible headache, some of them even hadn't awoken yet when he'd left more than an hour after the transfer of knowledge by the Dark Lord. He doubted the ever-sickly Errol Edwards would ever wake up again.

It had been done on purpose. The Dark Lord had wanted to sift the chaff from the wheat and in that he had succeeded. When the Potions Master remembered the mumbling of Peter Pettigrew he wondered if the traitor of the Potters would ever be the same again. None of them would be.

He pressed his hands against his temples.

He didn't want this information inside of his head; desperately he tried to seek peace within his Occlumency shields by shutting down, but remained unsuccessful. It was as if the Dark Lord had rooted the knowledge less inside his mind than soul. He was the only one to have received the knowledge of the fifth curse, he knew this. The Dark Lord had indicated it. Everybody else's mind would have been destroyed on impact, their Occlumency wasn't good enough.

He had felt tainted before, but today the sentiment intensified. He was unsure whether he could ever bare a person's presence again without thinking he contaminated them somehow.

Though not using them, or ever intending of using them, the fifth curse especially hurt terribly, nearly ripping him apart from the inside out. It was like poison to his heart and soul, slowly killing him.

Somehow, unsure whether he had crawled or walked, he was at the fireplace throwing in floo-powder.

"The headmaster's office." His voice croaked. "Sir, please…" He had said neither to Dumbledore in more than a decade and it didn't take more. Within the blink of an eye, the old man stepped through.

"My boy," he sounded very worried, "what happened?"

"I can't do it anymore, Sir," Snape whispered, "I can't. Don't make me go back there. Please."

The older man set next to him wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Usually he would have stiffened since he didn't like it when people breached or stepped into his personal space, today he had neither the strength nor wish to avoid the comforting touch of a man that was like a father to him.

"Severus?" Confusion and worry was evident in the man's facial expression.

"_Indicendi_, Albus. The Dark Lord is proficient with the _Indicendi_." Snape felt how the other man's calm demeanour faltered, his body stiffened. Slowly Dumbledore released the other man from his embrace and he looked at him. The spy saw in surprise to see wariness and even fear glimmering in the usually sparkling blue eyes.

"He used the _Indicendi_, Severus?"

"No, Headmaster. He created a special mind connection that would allow him to give his Death Eaters the information without having to speak the incantation." It was much easier to say 'Death Eaters' instead of 'us', but Dumbledore wasn't exactly what could be called a fool.

"Severus…" Sadness and horror was to be heard in the voice, "how are you feeling?"

"Tainted, more than ever before," the answer was spoken almost inaudibly, he couldn't look into his mentors eyes, his head bowed, "He gave me the knowledge of fifth curse as well, Headmaster."

A gasp escaped the wise man; he laid both of his hands at his young colleague's temples forcing him softly to look up.

"No, please. Don't probe my mind," it sounded so desperate, Dumbledore immediately let go. "I need to… I have to somehow… Give me time, my shields need reinforcement, I have to figure it out by myself."

Reluctantly the older wizard nodded. "If you don't want to be a spy anymore, Severus, it is not only understandable but very well earned. You have paid a terrible price tonight."

"This is my punishment for what I've done in the past, Headmaster," Snape said much more firmly than he would have thought himself to be capable of. "I have yet to make amends." Why wouldn't his hands stop shaking?

"Severus…"

The sad tone in Dumbledore's voice was like cold water in his face causing him to control his emotions more forcibly. Rather coldly he started to report this evening's events and by speaking he managed to completely get a hold of himself, though unable to stand up already.

"… I left when all of my student's parents were awake and more or less could focus enough to answer basic questions. Bellatrix Lestrange was awake, but she was in worse shape than the day she was freed from Azkaban. Her mind is broken, however cruelty still rules her. She was unpredictable before, but now…" He shook his head concluding his report.

"How long do you think will it take until they are able to use the spells?"

"Two months in the very least since fortunately none of them have the Dark Lord's power or aptitude in magic for that matter." He was glad about his voice sounding cold and detached. Tonight's events had shaken him.

"At least, we have time to prepare. Severus, if you stop spying I will give word to the Ministry tonight otherwise I will work a lot more discreetly in order to keep you save."

"Then be cautious, Headmaster, for I will return. Forgive my emotional outburst earlier; I may assure you it will not happen again."

Dumbledore didn't seem very pleased about his sudden detachment, but decided not to say anything.

All of a sudden Fawkes appeared, softly singing a soothing song that caused the Potions Master to breathe a little more freely.

"Fawkes?" Looking at his familiar, the headmaster seemed a little bewildered. A silent conversation seemed to occur between the phoenix and the most powerful wizard of modern times.

"Fawkes wants us to come into my office, Severus. I am not sure why, though. He seems anxious; I believe there is a student in my office." The tired expression on the spy's face was immediately replaced by the worried look every teacher wore when he was concerned for his students. Only when he was at the fireplace he realized that he had still been sitting on the ground.

* * *

Meanwhile Harry Potter sat in the headmaster's office worriedly. Those Unspeakables had to be terrible when the simple transfer of knowledge had managed to force the Death Eaters to the ground who were people he knew were capable of horrific things. He wondered what Dumbledore knew about them and was concerned for the Order's spy's health. He had awoken immediately after the transmission of knowledge, however he had hesitated about going to the headmaster in the middle of the night since he doubted anything could be done for the Potions Master anyway.

Unsuccessfully he had tried to go back to sleep repeatedly remembering Voldemort's feelings: morbid pleasure and greatest triumph. The pain of the monster's followers had caused him to wake up.

Fortunately he wasn't touched by the magic he witnessed in his dreams, so he hadn't gained the knowledge of this kind of magic. The pain of the others however had had an effect on him: Even an hour after waking up his head was still hammering.

The longer he had lain awake in his bed, the more agitated he had become. What if something happened to the professor? Or Nott's father, for that matter? His sister would be devastated if something happened to him.

Before the encounter last Tuesday with the bullies and the Slytherins he hadn't thought much about the Death Eaters, their pleasure in torturing innocents and their pureblood-madness disgusting him. But what the girl had said caused him to see them as something else but the hooded figures he saw every night. The shier thought of at least some of them being good parents tore his heart since it made their deeds even worse. How could any person capable of a positive emotion like parental love do the things they did and worst of all, enjoy it?

In the end he had gotten up, grabbed his Invisibility Cloak for the first time this semester and left the Gryffindor Tower.

When he had finally convinced the gargoyle to let him through ('Look... I could just sit here all night repeating every sort of sweet I know, but I neither have time nor the patience for that. Could you just let me through? It's about Voldemort, it's really important. Come on, you know me. I know you do' The stone didn't budge. Harry sighed: 'Chocolat Frog… Lemon Drop …' He said about ten until he had found the right one ('Fizzing Whizzbees'))

The fireplace flared green and to Harry's surprise two men came through, behind the headmaster one of the people he had been worried about followed. The younger man's eyes narrowed when he saw his pupil.

"Harry, that is a surprise," Dumbledore said kindly, but he seemed instantly worried. His voice sobered quickly. "Have you seen what happened tonight?"

"Yes, Sir," Harry answered softly, his facial expression rather anxious. He looked at the spy. "Professor Snape, are you alright? He knocked you all off your feet. I came here to tell Professor Dumbledore about it and to ask about those Unspeakables. Are they as bad as they seem to be?"

He wasn't exactly sure what he had said to anger his professor, but the more he spoke, the more the other man looked furious.

"Well, Potter," sarcasm was a too kind a word to describe the scathing tone, "do me a favour: If you are already incapable of following the basic rules of magic, at least try to create something that is actually useful. Your pathetic excuse of an Occlumency shield obviously isn't."

Harry wasn't quite sure why it hurt that much, maybe because of his respects for the man before him or the fact his teacher had seemed to approve of his shields. Maybe it was just because of Snape saying "as long as you remember just that" about his despair of being unable to do anything in his visions or because this was the first time he actually wanted to talk to somebody about what he saw, seeking comfort somewhere else but his own shields… It didn't matter why, it did hurt.

Murmuring "I'll come back in the morning, Professor Dumbledore" the young wizard turned around practically fleeing out of the office.

As soon as the door slammed, Snape looked down. While he had said the words he had known it was wrong, but this meeting had been exhausting and had affected him deeply, Potter just happened to come into the crossfire.

"_He always seems to be at the wrong end of your frustration."_ He had started to listen a little more to that annoying voice and decided that it wasn't entirely mistaken.

He shouldn't have said this to Potter, especially because it wasn't even true.

He couldn't look up since he was unable to look at neither Fawkes nor Dumbledore. He already could see their disappointed expressions even without truly watching them.

"I shouldn't have said it," he said quietly the moment he heard the headmaster moving.

"No, you shouldn't have. It's good you know this, at least," Dumbledore's answer was much milder than he had expected so he looked up, only to avoid the man's gaze again. Anger he could deal with, this look of profound disappointment was much harder to bear.

Fawkes must have been in favour of their last Occlumency lesson and somehow given his impressions to the headmaster otherwise the reaction of the old wizard would have been different.

There was a moment of silence; obviously they expected him to speak.

"I will not probe or try to enter his mind again, not as long as this curse is inside my head and I am unsure how to control that knowledge. I could kill him… or worse… He will have to learn about protecting his mind from it, we'll all have to."

"Very wise, my boy. I am already capable of it because of my Occlumency shields, Severus, but I am afraid this is very individual magic. Everybody has to find out on their own."

"The problem is, Potter's shields are quite unique, it is impossible to know how they will react to the fifth curse."

"You told me they are built on sounds and feelings…" Dumbledore began.

"Yes. They are nearly impenetrable and are impossible to describe… I cannot probe them for there are no visible borders or walls. As soon as you try to enter, you are inside of his shields. They basically work like a maze without solid walls... I do not understand them as well as I would like to by now, Albus. I simply don't. I was planning on asking Potter about them the next lesson, but as it is…"

"There is nothing wrong with verbal interaction, Severus. You should continue the lessons."

"What for, Albus?" He had not desire to continue those lessons, any other day he would have complied since he had come to realize how little he knew about his pupil's shields or Lily's son for that matter. However, the Unspeakables changed everything. "You said it yourself: You are able to fight this terrible power, Albus. Why don't you teach Potter what you know?"

"Several reasons: First of all it is too dangerous, still. Voldemort might use the connection when he recognizes my presence inside of Harry's mind and what if he immediately attacks with the fifth curse? Second of all judging by several reports of Minerva and Filius, I am afraid I cannot help him since we work with completely different understanding of basic magic: One could say that I rationalize and visualize magic while he feels it and lives through it. As much as I care about Harry, my way of Occluding is too much like yours, he wouldn't learn much from me."

"What could he possibly learn from me, then?" His rather disillusioned tone surprised him as well as the headmaster. Why did he suddenly care about how much the boy benefited from his Occlumency lessons?

"Harry sought you, Severus. You read this in his letters."

"Which he never sent." Why was it so hard to say this sentence emotionless?

The softened expression of his mentor told him that he had said too much.

"What are you afraid of, Severus?"

"Right now?" The contemptuous tone of his voice had returned and he was grateful for it, "Well, let's recall the happenings of this evening: The Dark Lord is obviously proficient with the Unspeakables, something we've always feared but had had no proof of. He also managed to pass this knowledge to his Death Eaters who now resemble a _Cortinarius_-Potion when _Amantia phalloides_ was mistaken for a young _Phallus impudicus_." The headmaster lifted his eyebrows, obviously a little confused, "detonation, headmaster. The cauldron explodes when the wrong ingredients are used… Anyway, I myself have the knowledge of the fifth curse inside of my head and I will have to find a way to ban it without the Dark Lord noticing. Potter is the least of my worries."

"Then why do you hesitate?" At that he couldn't help but scowl at the smart man before him. He had been caught.

Emotionally more shaken than usual, he decided to speak the truth: "Look, Albus. I know I was wrong about Potter. He demonstrated remarkably just how mistaken I was these last few weeks. I start to understand what you, Minerva and the rest of the staff see when they look at him. I am honest enough with myself to acknowledge that I do not know him."

"Exactly," the headmaster interrupted. His eyes sparkled. It was obvious how happy he was about this change of heart, "These lessons may help you to see things from each other's point of view, Severus. You can finally meet Harry."

"No, I can't" the sharpness in his voice was rather unexpected, "What use is there, Albus? Let's say we find common ground, I am a spy! I put my life in jeopardy by teaching Occlumency to Potter, what will happen when the Dark Lords finds out or suspect that I worry about the boy's safety?"

"Severus," his name was more sighed than said when Dumbledore spoke, "you know this isn't what truly worries you. What is it you truly are afraid of?"

Without answering he turned to the fireplace and left the headmaster's office wishing the other man a good night.

It didn't matter since both of them knew what he was wondering ever since the second he had recognized Potter as Lily's son:

_What happens when he finds out about him being the one who told the Dark Lord about the Prophecy?_

_What happens when he knows who was responsible for him to have grown up as an orphan?_

* * *

Harry knocked at the headmaster's office. It was seven in the morning, half an hour after the students were allowed to leave their dorms for the Great Hall. He really couldn't wait any longer. After having arrived back in the Gryffindor tower at four o'clock he had decided to study a bit before going back to Dumbledore.

He wondered whether points had been taken from his house since he had been out past curfew, Snape certainly would have insisted on it.

"Come in, Harry." The young wizard froze. How did Dumbledore know it was him?

When he entered he saw the man sitting at his desk looking at him with a smile.

"I thought you would come as early as possible, Harry," he chuckled softly, obviously having caught up on his sentiment. "Though gifted with many talents, I cannot look through walls."

Harry smiled a little, but it died very quickly. The older man sobered.

"Do you fell alright, Harry?"

"Yes, Sir. All in all it wasn't as bad as some of the dreams I had, however, judging by Voldemort's _enthusiasm_ I'd say that the worst is yet to come… Those Unspeakables, can they really do the things he said?"

"Professor Snape reported to me what he said and concluded he didn't lie. Nevertheless, he wasn't entirely truthful either."

Harry couldn't help, but laugh a little coldly: "Yes, I figured that much. He never tells them everything he knows. At times, when I when I was still Voldemort in my visions, I noticed that."

Dumbledore nodded a little: "Well, what he didn't tell his Death Eaters is that those spells drain energy from those who use them. Only one with enormous amount of magical power can cast more than one of them at a time."

"Like Voldemort?"

"Yes, like Voldemort."

There was a moment of silence, both understanding what it meant for Harry personally.

The young wizard decided to voice his concern: "Is there a way to fight off those spells or do they work similar to the killing curse?"

Dumbledore looked at his young student very calmly and said sadly: "They work completely differently, Harry, but there is no counter-curse either, I am afraid. It's very dark magic. To know more, I will have to do research, but as far as I know they can be avoided since the victim has to be at wandpoint and the spells don't work through walls."

"What do I do, Sir? Should I warn the others or wait? Should I include those spells into my DA class?"

"I would wait with this. Let me first find out more about them."

Harry could only nod at that. Dumbledore wanted to avoid panic, he even understood it. He had never seen those curses and they scared him (when Voldemort was as calm as tonight, it was never a good sign).

"Harry, from now on I would be glad if you could come to me reporting every vision you have since this is a step in Voldemort's plans that I have not anticipated and my knowledge about the Unspeakables is limited. I need to know more about them."

Harry felt his blood freeze.

"Every vision, Sir? Or should I come by once a week?" That caused the older wizard to look confused and apprehensive.

"You dream more than once a week of Death Eater meetings, Harry?"

At that the Seeker of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team couldn't look at the headmaster anymore, he felt a sudden lump in his throat unable to say anything.

He simply nodded.

The old wizard stood up, walked around his desk and fixed Harry with that penetrating gaze that made him feel as if the man read his mind (though he was sure that no Legilimency was used).

"Harry…" The desperate, almost helpless pain Dumbledore felt this moment pierced the boy's heart. These days it was much easier for Harry to feel the emotions of those around him which did have the advantage of knowing when something was about to escalate and aided significantly in helping those in distress. It troubled Harry however to see that the man who always seemed to know the answer to every problem, felt this kind of emotion as well.

Out of a reflex he had gained over the exhausting nights these last three almost four month, he reached out with his mind to calm the other man. He didn't touch him physically, but he let his mind protection float over Dumbledore's emotions the way he had learnt it.

He had realized this a few days ago: He had known that he was able to calm people in distress and he had known it had something to do with holding eye contact with the person he wanted to help. However he hadn't quite understood what he did exactly. He then found out that his shields didn't only work for himself, but for others, too. He simply had to touch their minds, actually less minds than hearts since his way into their minds was through emotion, and then he let his mind protection wrap around theirs like a cloak.

He still didn't completely understand how it worked, but ever since he had understood that his shields had something to do with it, helping had become a lot easier.

This principle worked on the headmaster, too. Dumbledore now seemed less distressed than before, even though he seemed rather confused now. He had to have felt something.

"Harry? What was this?" The expression Dumbledore wore was the closest Harry ever could have interpreted as a shocked one by the professor.

He definitely felt something. The younger wizard was a little unsure what to say. Hesitantly he said: "You were distressed, I tried to make you feel a little better."

Once again the piercing look of Albus Dumbledore seemed to scan him, but he didn't comment on what happened.

"Harry, how many times a week do you have those dreams?"

At that Harry looked away and started to search the circular room with all those little sounds that had become a part of his shields as well. On the golden perch was Fawkes who seemed to observe him no less attentive than his friend (neither owner nor master was an adequate expression to describe the relationship between Fawkes and Dumbledore).

Silently he said: "Every night, Sir. I am in Voldemort's lair every night. Sometimes short flashes at daytime, but he prefers to operate in the night. Besides, I think when I am awake I am distracted by what happens around me."

Harry saw the headmaster aging right in front of him. He looked tired and sad, every line in the ancient face seemed to be visible, and his eyes lost their spark.

"Oh, Harry." It sounded so compassionate, the Boy-who-Lived had to blink in order not to cry.

"Sir, please," unknown to Harry the tone of his voice reminded the headmaster so strongly of his younger colleague only hours ago, his heart stopped a beat. "It's best if I don't talk about it."

"Harry, you will break down if you continue like this…" Harry closed his eyes very firmly trying to fight off all signs of weakness and tiredness.

"If I talk about it, Sir, I will break down. Be assured that I will report to you, but please don't force me to state more than the cruel facts."

"I cannot do this, Harry. This could kill you from the inside out." This time he couldn't hold back the tears. The made his green eyes shine more intensively.

"I know, but don't make me. Please." The headmaster closed his eyes which confused Harry since it was an unusual display of weakness.

"When was the last time you had a full night's sleep?" The question was asked quietly and concerned.

Harry had to force himself to stand his ground and not just to flee the office. His back now faced the headmaster: "Since _he_ died." He couldn't speak Sirius' name aloud, he simply couldn't.

When the hand touched his shoulder he nearly jumped. He wanted to change topic so badly he blurted out with the first topic he could think of: "If the Quidditch league of Great Britain were to play football would the players stand a chance in the Premier League?"

The question was so unexpected it caused the headmaster to laugh a little and the tension dissolved slightly.

"Well, I wouldn't know, but the Falmouth Falcons would probably earn more red cards than any other football team."

Harry smiled sadly and they sobered rapidly.

"Harry, I understand, but you need to talk to someone. Suppressing your feelings is not going to help."

He nodded, but the only someone whom he had told about his worries was dead and since it was his fault, he had no right to go to someone else. He'd never say this, though.

In order not to let the older man down, he said something else that bothered him: "Professor Snape was rather angry earlier, Sir. Is he alright?" The sparkle was back in the piercing blue eyes of the powerful wizard, but it seemed a little weak, like a flame that was about to disperse.

"Yes, Harry. Tonight's events have shaken him."

To that Harry could only nod and added: "His Occlumency shields were lifted for a second. When Voldemort mentioned the Unspeakables, he… well, to say Professor Snape was shocked wouldn't do justice. He was afraid."

His words earned another piercing look by the headmaster.

"Does Voldemort suspect anything?"

At this Harry furrowed his eyebrows: "If he did, the professor would already know since I wouldn't have left earlier before at least telling this."

"I apologize." It was so sincere, Harry could only shake his head a little to say it was alright. He hadn't meant to sound so cold.

"My Occlumency lessons with him… Do they still stand? He seemed rather disapproving of them earlier." He felt insecure and showed this to the older man.

"Be assured that it was a simple matter of circumstance. He usually isn't the kindest of people after returning from a Death Eater meeting and last night was especially draining for him." Harry had thought this much, but he was still glad to hear it.

He glanced at his watch, seeing that if he wanted to eat breakfast before class, he really had to go.

"Is there anything else, Sir?"

"You may come to me when you dream something about the Unspeakables, Harry and please come by anytime when you need to speak to someone. Is there something else you wanted to say?"

"Not for now. I'll come to you, Sir. Thank you. Have a nice day." With that he left the office.

Only minutes later he was at breakfast with Ron and Hermione. The two still hadn't caught up on their crush on each other. It was actually quite amusing watching Ron being completely unable to speak a coherent sentence when Hermione brushed her hand through her hair. Whatever he was doing at the moment, he completely forgot about only to watch her. This morning, he managed to miss his mouth all in all three times before finally the sausage found its way inside of Ron's upper digestive system with the sole problem of him having forgotten what his jaw was actually built for.

Harry could only shake his head, but looked up when he saw the arrival of the morning post. In the blur of brown feathers he immediately saw Hedwig. He smiled knowing that Dudley had written back.

His friends noticed, too and when they saw Harry's delight, both of them were immediately worried. He knew this since he felt Hermione's stomach clench uncomfortably and Ron's slightly furrowed eyebrows, his heart beat a little faster. The feelings of his two best friends were something he could by now decipher within the blink of an eye.

He took the letter from Hedwig thanking her and offered her a piece of toast which she ate rather hungrily. She must have flown through the night, all the way from Surrey.

He opened the letter and started to read.

_Dear Harry_

_To say I was happy and relieved to read your letter is a simple understatement. Thank you. Thank you so much for giving me a chance. I know I don't deserve it._

_I was sitting inside of my room when that owl arrived, I know it's yours. What's its name? _

_Anyway, it wasn't exactly fond of me, it was rather suspicious and I had to explain my motives before it even allowed me to read your letter. The owl is rather protective of you which is a good thing, actually. We didn't protect you much in the past, didn't we?_

_As for your letter I have some questions: What do you mean by "_what you did to me isn't exactly what I see when I encounter Dementors"?_ I mean, you wrote that they affect you the same way as they do us non-magical lot (I am sorry, but Muggle is just too strange a word). Did something worse happen to you? _

_I was saddened by the fact you'll return home __only one more time. You people truly are of age at seventeen? Cool. I think._

_You asked me what I wanted to know. _

_Well, everything. Tell me about your world. Basically, I would be glad if you could tell me who you were. Are you still as good at math as you were in Primary School? Are you a good student in general? Do you still have that talent to completely fade in the background? I know that's partly my fault and I am sorry you had to __keep your grades intentionally low in order to keep my family happy. That's not how it's supposed to work. _

_I mean, we talked about abuse at school a few weeks ago and they said that constant defamation and the withdrawal of emotional affection is a form of abuse, too. Including my frequent violent behaviour towards you, one could say you were treated very badly by Mom, Dad and myself. I apologize for that. They also said that if somebody had an exceptional talent at let's say music, but that person lives in a house where music is considered something inferior, those children completely lose their abilities for their own peace of mind and they receive what is called a "mental blockage". Do you think this happened to you as well concerning your _special _ability? I know the strange occurrences lessened over the years. I hope, I'm wrong, though._

_I'm babbling, I know. Sorry._

_Well, right now I am at Smeltings together with Piers, I think you know this. Piers is still a friend of mine, but since I stopped harassing kids smaller than me, he distances a little bit. I am not sure what to make of this. Do you? _

_Last year at school I met this other kid, Marcus, we go to the gym together since I want to lose some weight. He's in a lot better shape than I am, but unlike some of the others he doesn't make fun of me this much. He sometimes reminds me a little of you._

_I told him of my estranged cousin and he helped me write that first letter,__ but don't worry, he doesn't know you are a You-Know-What._

_There is something__ else I need to ask you. You said last summer about that guy being back and Mom was rather scared about this. Is he still around? Do I have to worry?_

_Well, I guess that's more questions tha__n answers, but I think that is going to get better as soon as we write more regularly._

_Thanks again for answering._

_Your cousin,_

_Dudley_

Harry was thoughtful after having read the message. At first he had to laugh a little while reading about Hedwig's protective streak, and then once again the innocent question concerning the hardships in his life nearly made him cry. Afterwards he frowned a little when reading those lines about abuse… Surly, he never liked living at the Dursley, but abuse? No, he didn't really feel abused.

Concerning his magical abilities he sincerely doubted he suppressed them in any way, though he had to admit that ever since the creation of his shields magic came easier to him than before. But how could they have dissolved a mental blockage, if something like this existed in the first place?

Marcus seemed to be a nice kid; he was looking forward to hearing more from him.

The question about Voldemort had caused his breath to stop. What could he possibly say, Dudley's life wasn't in jeopardy directly, but the dark wizard wasn't exactly known to be merciful towards the Muggles who crossed his path and Dudley was Harry's cousin after all. Yet it was unlikely that Smeltings would be attacked and Privet Drive was untouchable for the Death Eaters (_'Mental Note: Write to Dudley never to mention any street names.'_).

"Harry, are you alright? Was it a scam by the git?" Ron looked ready to hex Dudley.

But Harry only shook his head: "No, not at all. He's just asking what happened ever since I am in the Wizarding World. It's kind of hard to explain." He smiled a little sadly.

Almost two weeks later, Harry and his two best friends walked towards the Great Hall. It was Friday evening and they wanted to go to the Halloween feast.

While he listened to the delighted chattering of Ron, he smiled a little. It was good to hear him talking around Hermione again…

_The first DA lesson after hearing of the Unspeakables had been a little hard. It wasn't easy to __watch them getting better and better every time they met, when you knew that no matter how good they had become, the Death Eaters had a deadly advantage. Yet Harry refused to claim defeat. Harder than ever he had studied and this urged his friends to work just as enthusiastically._

_During this lesson however, a conflict between Hermione and Ron started to fester when the red-haired boy had become jealous of the bright witch talking to Blaise about the young wizard's potions project. _

_At the end of the lesson, shortly after Professor McGonagall had left only leaving the three friends, the Slytherins and __Neville the argument escalated._

_As always when envy ruled Ron's heart, his comments were razor-sharp and scathing causing Blaise to raise his wand. Harry managed to break off the argument quickly, but Ron lashed out on him._

"_Stop playing the Golden Boy, Harry. You are not infallible." Hearing this from anybody else wouldn't have caused Harry to react the way he did, but Ron managed to have Harry losing his temper. _

_He stalked towards his best friend and said: "Now, you listen to me! Neither Blaise nor Hermione have any romantic interest in each other, so stop acting jealously, for Merlin's sake! __After Hermione told you at the end of the Yule Ball to ask her out before anybody else does and not as a last resort, you told me that she completely missed the point… I didn't say anything because I enjoyed the fact you spoke to me again too much to say anything, but let me tell you that she got the point a lot better than you did, Ron. If you want to go out with her then just tell her and stop acting so jealously!" While saying so he disarmed his best friend so harshly he was knocked off his feet. Disbelievingly the youngest male Weasley looked up, his nose was a little bloody. Harry froze._

_He had hurt him! He had hurt Ron! _

_Why was it he always ended up hurting those he loved?_

_Instantly he was at his friend's side, guilt nearly crushing him: "Merlin, Ron. I am sorry! Please, forgive me." He must have sounded rather desperate since there was no anger and only surprise in his expression. _

"_It's okay, Harry. I shouldn't have said this." He simply said and then was quiet again when he recognized Hermione's fury, but she seemed much friendlier after the tall young man's words. His ears turned bright red._

"_We'll leave you two alone, but please don't hex each other. Just talk," Harry said quietly._

They never told him what they said to each other that evening, but when they had come back to the Common Room, they had held hands and Ron blushing furiously had apologized for his behaviour earlier and declared them being a couple.

Harry had smiled and told them that it had been about time.

He was a little afraid to lose their friendship, though. He felt less like the third wheel than an intruder sometimes when they went to eat breakfast or sat in the Common Room together at the evenings. He was happy for them, though, it was refreshing to see Hermione slightly out of her comfort zone and rather amusing to listen to Ron's chattering.

* * *

Hello, everybody!

I am sorry. It took me too long I know, but last week I was sick and busy, so I couldn't take the time to write.

I hope, I'll be able to update sooner than this time.

Once again: Thank you very much for the reviews!

About the Unspeakables... Who says the Wizarding World doesn't misinterpret it as well? :-)

I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please, send me your opinion *puppydoglook*


	13. Halloween, Part Two

**Chapter 9: Halloween, Part Two**

Harry heard someone calling behind him and turned around; Neville approached quickly. It was nice to see that he had lost a lot of his clumsiness in the last two years. He couldn't be praised with an elegant stride, but he did arrive safely at the places he wanted to go to.

"Hello, Neville!" Harry smiled causing the young couple to turn around as well. They hadn't even heard their friend approaching.

A little embarrassed, they welcomed Ron and Harry's dorm mate.

The good-humoured young man started to talk to Harry, "Have you heard of the thing Dumbledore's planned for tonight? The _Tapping Zombies _are invited!" At Harry's raised eyebrows he said, "It's an Irish Dance Group, they're not real zombies." All the famous wizard could do was nod in amusement.

"And did you see those pumpkins Hagrid's got? I tell you, they are getting bigger every year… As always, there are thousands of bats in the Great Hall! Isn't that amazing? What is it?" The babbling Gryffindor stopped talking about the Halloween Feast, when he saw Harry smile with a mixture of amusement and sorrow.

"I'm sorry," Harry smiled, trying to keep is voice unaffected, "I didn't know you loved Halloween that much." Seeing the normally shy young man so talkative was a very nice thing to witness.

"Are you kidding me?" Neville looked at him in disbelief, "it's the best holiday since, unlike on Christmas, everybody is here and the decorations are fantastic." Harry could only nod. It was not as if he didn't like the fact that everybody was there to celebrate, during his first few years at Hogwarts he had enjoyed the holiday as well.

Nevertheless, ever since his childhood ended that night on the graveyard, and he truly had seen the monster return, Halloween had an entirely different meaning to him.

Last year had been different, for they hadn't had much reason for celebration at Hogwarts because of the toad's presence, and back then he'd still had Sirius. These days, when he truly understood the meaning of being an orphan, the night fifteen years ago when he lost his parents simply made it impossible for him to truly enjoy the holiday.

The only reason he went to the feast was because of an allusion Dumbledore had made… He had reported to the old man twice ever since he had been asked to do it, carefully avoiding appearing every morning in the headmaster's office and yet telling everything he knew. Unfortunately, he couldn't really help. All he had been able to say was that Peter Pettigrew along with ten of the all in all thirty wizards and witches in Voldemort's inner circle (those who had achieved the knowledge) didn't have the power to use the spells: Some of them had only been slightly damaged (magically or physically) by the transfer while two had gone insane and therefore been killed by another Death Eater at Voldemort's command ("_I do not welcome weakness_.").

Wormtail no longer ingratiated with his master, he was quiet and somewhat absent with his mind all the time. He didn't truly react to any taunting or torture they inflicted on him. It was almost as if he had died inside. Once, when Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured him for longer than five minutes, Harry could no longer bare it, and not unlike other victims of the Death Eaters, he had tried to help Wormtail.

Nobody deserved to be tortured like this. Not even the so-called friend who had betrayed his parents.

Bellatrix Lestrange was another story: She had been insane before, but back then she'd still had some kind of restraint; these days she was completely unhinged, sometimes torturing witches and wizards to death that hadn't been interrogated by Voldemort yet. She hardly reacted when her master tortured her with the Cruciatus. Then something had happened that Harry still couldn't explain…

_Harry looked at the murderer of his godfather being hit by the Cruciatus casted by the one who had killed his parents. Rather ironic, really, and Harry's feelings were divided. He just wanted it to stop, but he couldn't bring himself to reach out with his mind to console the witch. She didn't react much, anyway._

_Voldemort lifted his wand and looked at her thoughtfully. Then he swiftly went towards her, coming awfully close, and pointed his wand at her head. Not a word was spoken, but there was an explosion of pain only an instant later. _

_His scar hadn't hurt this much in three months. It was comparable only to the time when he had been possessed by Voldemort._

_With a start he woke up screaming at the top of his lungs. Only the fact that he had been putting up silencing charms for the entire term prevented the whole Gryffindor Tower to be woken up by the desperate hurl of the one they called the Boy-who-Lived._

The following night Harry had stayed awake until past one o'clock, because he was afraid of feeling this kind of pain again.

The emotional pain he had felt the last night hadn't been as bad as seeing all those innocents dying, their fear and hurt consuming him. But since he had to deal with that every night it wasn't the same. The scar pain had been unexpected. Besides, what had caused Harry's terror was that it almost felt as if whatever spell had been casted by Voldemort, it had affected Harry's very soul. And his shields hadn't helped at all.

In the end he forced himself to sleep and was relieved to see that, though his dreams displayed the usual terror, he felt nothing beyond it.

Bellatrix Lestrange had changed after Voldemort's punishment. Harry couldn't put his finger on what had changed, though: She was still insane, still crouching at Voldemort's feet, still found pleasure in torturing and killing others, but something had changed. She listened to Voldemort's commands with such accuracy, Harry briefly wondered if the witch would drown herself if he asked her to.

Something else occurred that came as a surprise to Harry: Voldemort himself seemed to have been affected by the curse, for whenever he looked at Bellatrix an odd sensation came over Harry. A mixture of curiosity for the way the spell had worked and a profound impression of what could only be titled as anxiety not for the witch but because of the spell: Voldemort respected, partly even feared what he had done, nevertheless he seemed to be naturally adept at it ('As he is with anything magical he touches,' Harry thought a little derisively).

Everything he had learnt he had told Dumbledore on his last meeting though completely concealing what he had felt when Voldemort had used that mysterious curse. Could it be the fifth curse?

"_That is most likely, Harry." Dumbledore answered to his question, "the fifth curse is one of those spells nobody seemed to have known that they truly existed not to mention could actually be used. I am trying to find information, but it is rare and those who have it usually do not exactly converse with me." _

_Harry could only imagine what kind of people knew about them. Then, black eyes that reminded him of dark tunnels came to his mind._

"_Sir, where has Professor Snape heard of them?" It was a question asked out of curiosity with a slight undertone that spoke of concern, but entirely without suspicion. Harry remembered Sirius who had once said that Snape had always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, that at school he had been famous for it, but Harry started to wonder why this had been the case and where he had learnt it all. _

_Dumbledore gave him a sharp look, but didn't seem angry. His tone however was final: "That is not my story to tell, Harry."_

_He accepted this answer knowing he had no other choice. _

"_Well," Dumbledore cleared his throat, clearly changing the subject, "next Friday is Halloween." Harry's breath stopped when he thought of that terrible night his parents died. The headmaster seemed to read his mind, "I can only imagine what meaning this holiday has for you, Harry. But I ask you to come to the feast anyway, for other than hoping you'll still be able to enjoy it to some degree, I will address the school at the beginning of the evening and would like you to be present."_

_Harry found himself rather curious at the announcement: "What…?" But the man's eyes sparkled, for a moment looking much younger than he usually did these days: "If I told you, I probably wouldn't see you at the feast. Be assured, Harry, it isn't bad news."_

Only minutes after, Harry had left the office feeling a little guilty for not opening up to the man who was like a grandfather to him. It wasn't that he didn't trust him; he knew whatever he said inside that office would stay there.

It was just…

Harry sighed. He simply didn't deserve the comfort. He…

"Harry, you alright?" Neville looked at him worriedly.

"Sorry Neville. Just thinking. I'm fine."

He looked at him suspiciously, obviously he didn't believe him. No one would blame Neville for not trusting Harry's truthfulness, since it was universally acknowledged in the Gryffindor House that the Boy-who-Lived could break every single bone in his body, and questions concerning his health would still be answered with "I'm fine."

Besides, despite what certain people (especially snarky potions professors) believed, Neville Longbottom wasn't a simpleton and, though not a light sleeper, just like the rest of his dorm mates, he had noticed that his friend was regularly deprived of a significant amount of sleep.

Yet Harry didn't look like it. He remembered that evening three weeks ago when Dean and Seamus had set up an anti-glamour charm at the threshold to their dorm, because they too had the suspicion that Harry hid his true state of health. However, when he had entered the room, nothing happened. He looked the same as ever. The young wizard wore no glamour.

Neville respected the Boy-who-Lived deeply for many reasons, all of which he had demonstrated this year impressively: He was smart, courageous and very powerful. Though unaware of any of those qualities, he was an excellent leader and one of the best teachers Neville had. Harry had this air about him that made one trust him immediately, yet he was embarrassed so easily it was almost painful to watch when someone praised him. What amazed him the most, however, was a very simple thing: Harry liked him, considered him a friend even, especially since what had happened at the Ministry. Harry asked for his opinion occasionally and was always quick at his defense if necessary.

Harry Potter, the person who, more than most, had the right to look down on other (normal, unimportant) people was as down to earth as they come. He had the loyalty of a Hufflepuff, too. Those he cared about he protected vigorously.

"Neville?" It was Harry's turn now to sound concerned, shaking the other Gryffindor out of his musings, "Are _you_ alright?"

"What? Yes, I'm fine." Harry laughed at this, and they continued walking. Ron and Hermione seemed to be in their own world whispering and giggling with each other. Harry smiled at this. It had taken long enough.

Suddenly, Neville stopped in his tracks.

"Neville?"

"Oh no! I forgot my wand in my dorm. I've got to go back… The best seats will be taken by the time I come back." He looked rather frantic, but since problems like this weren't exactly life-threatening or a serious problem, Harry could calm him down without really having to resort to his shields. He laid a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"You go. I'll get your wand. I don't care much for the show of the _Dancing Zombies_, anyway."

After reassuring the young man three times that it was alright, he turned around and walked towards the Gryffindor Tower.

Harry had been involved in the war for so long, he had completely forgotten that there were people who could actually worry about things like missing a show. Just like when he had met Cara or played (a rather forceful) match-maker for Ron and Hermione, he had to smile a little. Despite the date he couldn't help but think that sometimes… Sometimes life was good.

Thinking of good, Harry's last Occlumency lesson had been the best one he'd ever had despite Fawkes' absence (who had had to go on a mission for Dumbledore). In the end he almost regretted for not having had a witness if only to make sure that it hadn't been a dream…

_He knocked at the Potions Master's office and as always the cold voice gave him permission to enter. He hesitantly entered not really knowing what to expect. _

_Despite what the headmaster had told him, last week hadn't been a lesson since Snape had cancelled it that Tuesday morning during Potions (_"Potter, I am busy this evening, therefore you won't be having a remedial potions lesson."_). _

"_Good evening, Sir." As always the older wizard only nodded in response. He sat behind his desk and motioned him to sit on the chair on the other side of the table._

_Wordlessly Harry sat down, feeling a little nervous. He never felt this way when going to Dumbledore's office, but being here made him feel as if he had done something wrong._

_Almost desperately he looked for his feathery friend who was absent. Snape then explained where Fawkes was. _

"_Well, Potter. The headmaster told me that you are very well aware what happened nine nights ago, so I do not see the point in lying to you. I have received the knowledge of the fifth curse of the _Indicendi_ which is the reason why, for now, I will not enter your mind or even get close to it until I am sure of the consequences."_

_Harry could only nod. What could he say to that?_

"_Therefore, I would simply like to talk to you." Harry couldn't help but raise his eyebrows. Did Snape just say that he would _like_ to do something together with the hated son of his greatest rival?_

_He decided not to say anything, only looked straight into those black eyes. He wondered for a moment what the desk between them was for. Whom did he want to shield?_

"_Let's get to the point. Your shields…," he stopped talking for a moment, obviously forcing himself to say the next words, "To be honest with you, I do not understand them."_

_Harry had to contain himself not to outright stare at the potions professor. Had he not just told him how useless his shields were? What truly surprised him was the fact that one of the most intelligent people he knew would be puzzled by his shields. They weren't that special, were they? _

"_What exactly don't you understand, Sir?" The question was rather safe. Snape always appreciated questions that were asked in order to receive more precise information, even if somebody interrupted his lecture for them. _

"_Their structure, Potter. I am very sure to have recognized Hogwarts as a part of your shields, but I am not sure how you image the castle." _

_At that Harry smiled a little: "You recognized Hogwarts? That's good. I think only those who look at this place as home would ever recognize it." Then he was suddenly serious, "I know _he_'ll recognize it, too, should he ever try. Yet, I hope that other aspects of the shields will keep him at bay."_

_For the first time in nearly five and a half years, the Head of Slytherin didn't look at him loathingly, angrily or indifferently. He seemed honestly curious: "What did you do, Potter?"_

_Harry started to explain. Because he always looked at Snape to be someone who responded strongly to images and (judging by his talent as a Potions Master) smells, he decided to elucidate from the beginning: _

"_Shortly after what happened at the Ministry I had those dreams again, being Voldemort and all. Sorry," he added at Snape's glare because of the name, "I remembered what you said about control and that I had to stop putting my heart on my sleeve. I cannot do it, Sir. What you do not know is that emotions saved me last summer." _

_At that his instructor couldn't help but interrupt scathingly: "I am quite sure the appearance of the headmaster helped, Potter."_

_Harry felt his anger rise at the words. The man wanted simple facts? He'd get him those: "I will explain things quickly since you obviously are not interested in explanations: Had Professor Dumbledore not arrived, I would be dead. However, when Voldemort possessed me, there was nothing he could have done. I was ready to die for it hurt so much, but then I realized that I would see my parents and Sirius again and my heart filled with sorrow, love, even happiness all at the same time. A moment later, _he_ was gone, unable to bear emotion beyond triumph and fury. In the course of the summer I realized this, which is why I started to create shields whose foundation is my heart. Everything that ever made me feel is a part of those. They are not simple shields, they are a part of me. To be honest, I don't think that I created them, I simply awakened them… They were always here. Do you have questions about them, Sir?" The second he finished talking, he regretted his words. He shouldn't have spoken so disrespectfully, but meeting Snape face to face was always a challenge on his temper. On one hand he wanted to apologize to the man and tried to keep his head down, on the other hand that didn't seem to work, either. If anything, except for a few moments, he had been treated even worse lately than the last few years. _

"You care. That is what changed. That's why his criticism hurts you more than usual. You don't want him to hate you. You want him to give you a chance. But do you deserve one?"_ As always the nasty little voice was right._

"_I may have prematurely judged your shields, Potter." The facial expression was unreadable, Snape's emotion hidden deeply behind his Occlumency shields. _

_Harry showed less restraint: He gaped at the man before him. Had he just admitted to have been wrong?_

_The man continued his eyes fixed on Harry's: "I have encountered many kinds of magic in the course of my life, yours I must admit is of rather unique nature. I would like to know more about it. I will not speak unless to ask questions."_

_After having heard those words Harry could swear his chin and eyebrows had managed to be as far from each other as possible for the later rose and his jaw had dropped. This kind of compliment had been unexpected… In fact, he didn't believe his own ears. _

"_Potter, I do not intend to spend the rest of the night in this office. If my request was too complicated for you, say so and this meeting will not last long."_

_Harry immediately caught himself, but his heart hammered._

'Snape has given you a compliment! Professor Snape praised the son of the one person he had loathed with all his heart!'

"_Well, I…" He stopped for a moment. He didn't want to rush into explanations; he wanted to make the man understand how carefully he had thought everything through._

"_It took me almost twenty-four hours to create the foundation of the shields. And I still strengthen them… Every day. What I basically do is remember good things happening to me, new people I meet. But I knew that in order to protect those people I cannot have their pictures inside of my head. I could as well send a letter to _him_ telling him what to do in order to destroy me. So, I add to my shields what makes those people special: sounds, a smell, what I feel for them or what they make me feel, never their faces, though. _He_ strongly responds to the things he sees and though his sense of smell is strong, I doubt he'd truly understand the smells I add to my shields since I added smells that make me feel good. That happened more subconsciously, though. What I added deliberately were sounds and feelings. That was when I decided to add the one place that made me live the whole variety of sentiments: safety, happiness, the feeling to belong, but also fear and shame. You have already guessed it: Hogwarts. There is a map of Hogwarts protecting my mind. Hogwarts the way I experience it, not the way it looks like."_

_Snape looked thoughtful, otherwise his expression was impassive. _

"_So, am I right to assume that the day you trapped me inside of your mind three weeks ago that you locked me into the potions classroom?"_

_Harry felt his pupils widen. It was true that the potions classroom stressed him out and he could never truly relax during those lessons, but that was not the place he had used to lead Snape back on track: "No, Sir. It wasn't the potions classroom."_

"_What other place at Hogwarts would make you feel enclosed, Potter?" Harry couldn't truly fathom the tone of his professor. As calming as Snape's presence was for Harry because the man's emotions never threatened to crush him, the stoic demeanour was quite frustrating when you wanted to figure out what the other man thought._

_Other than that, he felt himself becoming tense. What should he say now? _

_He decided to reveal only part of the truth:_

"_It's not a place at Hogwarts. It's a mere cupboard. It's a rather small space and would make everybody feel a little trapped, Sir."_

"_Are you claustrophobic, Potter?" _

_Not anymore. _

"_No, Sir. Not at all."_

"_I am sure to have felt a foreboding sentiment when I was trapped that way, Potter. That would indicate claustrophobia."_

_That was the reason why he had wanted to avoid the topic in the first place. The wizard was simply too perceptive. Lying to him was nearly impossible since he had an incredible flair for logic. He had learnt that at the end of their first year when trying to go to the Stone._

_And now he saw the man who looked at him literally putting the pieces together. _

"_In your relative's house… Once I saw your uncle opening a small door under the stairs and you were shoved inside. Is this the cupboard you are talking about?" _

_Harry could hardly breathe. He nodded desperately hoping the man wouldn't ask any more questions. _

"_Was this a form of punishment when you misbehaved?" Harry nodded almost sighing in relief. The whole _"to be honest, it was my room until I received my Hogwarts letter" _he ignored hoping the man would accept his answer._

_Snape's expression was still unreadable, but his eyes glimmered a little. Harry had no idea whether this was a good or a bad sign. _

"_He told you to go to _your_ cupboard that day. What does this mean?" _

_All colour left Harry's face. Snape was, apart from Voldemort, the last person he wanted to have know. _

_Yes, he respected the man, but there was another reason why he had been hesitating in sending a letter of apology apart from the fact he wasn't sure of them being good enough to please the man, Snape had so far never hesitated to ridicule him. He had made it perfectly clear how little he thought of him and if his letter would not be accepted, he would have given all his weapons to Snape, who would never stop mocking him about it. _

_Harry couldn't risk his heart like this. It was all he had left. _

_He would apologize, but nothing beyond. He couldn't open up to Snape. He never would._

_What now? The man had trapped him and for the first time he truly understood the advantage of having some sort of mind protection. Snape wouldn't be able to get the information._

"_I don't know what you are talking about, Sir." Harry had the urge to close his eyes. With those words he had betrayed himself. If not already before, the potions professor knew now that his pupil hid something._

"_Don't lie to me," for some reason, he didn't sound as scathing as usual._

"_I…" Harry's mind was racing. It was too embarrassing. What could he possibly say? That he grew up in there? He couldn't. Not even Ron and Hermione knew. That tight feeling inside of his chest intensified._

_He hoped the man would respond to his attempt of changing the subject: "Thank you for telling me about _Potions and Chemistry, _Sir. It's really interesting."_

"_Potter, your endeavour in trying to divert me from the subject is pathetic. I know you are a Gryffindor, but a tiny bit of cunning you should be capable of."_

'Yes!'

"_I would hope so, Sir. Otherwise I would seriously wonder why the Sorting Hat would have wanted to put me into Slytherin. Save for my talent in Parseltongue, of course."_

_At that, Snape lost his composure for a moment. His dark eyes widened, not believing what he'd just heard. Even his jaw dropped a tiny fraction. _

"_Impossible. You? In my hou… Oh!" Then he smiled, actually smiled. His eyes sparkled and Harry was awestruck by the change in the man's facial expression: He looked so much younger, almost innocent when the usual frown left his face. "I see. Do you truly believe you can outsmart me, Potter?"_

_The smile disappeared and Harry felt his own body tense again. _

"_I think no answer speaks volumes, as well. You do not say it, but I can guess anyway. There are only two possibilities: Either you were a troublemaker and were punished so many times that it became a habit or you spent more time in there than for mere punishment since it was _your_ cupboard, your room." Harry opened his mouth to emphasize the former, but flinched when the second possibility was spoken. _

"_Your shields are strong, Potter, but they do not hide your feelings. I think you nonverbally answered my question."_

_Silence._

_Harry couldn't look at Snape. He felt his face redden. _

_He knew… Merlin, he'd never live this down._

"_Be assured of my secrecy, Potter." Harry lifted his head so sharply, he managed to hurt his neck. _

"_I have very well noticed your secrecy, last year. Since this is an Occlumency lesson as well, this knowledge will not leave this room."_

_Harry suddenly had the opportunity. He was overwhelmed with gratitude and right this moment he could apologize for his behaviour. _

'Say it!' _He ordered himself._ _'_Tell him how sorry you are_!_'

"_Sir…"_

'Say it!'

"_Thank you."_

'Coward!'

_Snape nodded his face closing off again. He seemed to have expected more as well. However, he changed the subject: "After a talk with the headmaster, he told me something that worried me a little. That day when you trapped me, you managed to speak to me, breaching my mind, and Professor Dumbledore told me that you also entered his mind."_

"_I…" Harry didn't know what to say. It was rather easy to enter other people's minds when you used their emotions as a guide… but he didn't or did he?_

"_Sir, did I hurt you that day?" _

_Snape looked at him a little puzzled: "Hurt me? Not at all, Potter, why would you think so? You entered my mind, but you didn't cause me any harm. The headmaster, too, emphasized this, saying that he at first hadn't even noticed your entering."_

"_Good." Harry said. When his professor looked at him speechless, he decided to add: "It works the same way as my shields. I enter the mind through people's sentiments."_

"_You make it sound rather simple," Snape said disbelievingly._

_Harry blushed. To him it came rather natural, yes, but surly it wasn't that difficult, was it?_

_Snape seemed to ponder on something else: "You can estimate what other people feel, Potter?"_

_At first Harry wanted to deny immediately. Well, he had good instincts concerning other people's emotions, but nothing more. _

_But thinking about it, he knew there was more to it especially since he had created his shields. The waves of emotions that crushed him every night were most definitely not what a normal person felt when one had to watch Death Eater meetings._

'When have you ever been normal, Harry Potter?'

"_It's easier when I know the person well, Sir."_

_Snape nodded thoughtfully, his left hand tapped on his desk. Suddenly the man froze. He looked at him as if truly seeing him for the first time. _

"_Your dreams…" the man's voice was hoarse, eyes widened, "You are empathic… Merlin!"_

_Harry looked at him worriedly, not only because the sudden display of emotion wasn't what one saw everyday, but because the man might find out…_

"_You feel them, don't you? You feel their fear." It wasn't a question. _

_Harry felt dizzy. His face had to look ashen white. As fast as he could, he jumped from his chair wanting to flee the office. He didn't want to talk about it. Snape would tell Dumbledore. _

_They'd want to make him feel better, but they couldn't and he didn't deserve it, even if they could… He had to go._

_When he arrived at the door, he found it locked. Wildly looking back he raised his wand to open it, but was suddenly disarmed._

"_Don't leave this room, Potter," Snape said quietly, approaching carefully. _

_Harry was frozen on the spot. The tall man was at an arm's length distance. Cautiously, he lifted his hand and laid it on the trembling student's shoulder. _

"_I know."_

_For once, his Occlumency shields were partly lifted. Snape looked at him in deep understanding, his eyes glimmering slightly and Harry was unable to determine what it meant._

"_I know," the older wizard repeated, "it's not your fault."_

_Harry felt tears wallowing up inside, he knew his eyes seemed dangerously wet, but he had never been more grateful and desperate at the same time. All he wanted to do was break down and cry, only to be consoled by someone who cared about him as much as Sirius or his parents had. Since the later wasn't existent because of his faults, he couldn't afford the former, either. _

_Snape understood, though. He may not like him or even respect him, but he understood him. That was good enough for the moment. He looked into the other man's eyes and for the first time, openly drew strength from the stoic presence of the Potions Master. He relaxed slightly and like this was able to receive comfort from his own shields. _

_It was good enough to get a hold of himself._

"_Thank you, Sir." It was all he could think of to say. The other man seemed to struggle in keeping his distanced demeanour. _

"_What did you just do?"_

"_You are so calm all the time," Harry whispered. It was time to confess, "During my dreams I sometimes retreat back into your Occlumency shields, for you truly rid yourself of all emotion. It's the only place where I can learn to handle myself again when it's particularly bad. I hope that is okay." He couldn't look at the man, not ready to see the anger. _

"_Potter," Harry immediately looked up. He didn't seem angry, but no other emotion was to be seen either, "I didn't know my shields could actually be _entered_, but if accessing them keeps you sane, you are very welcome to seek comfort in them during future visions." _

"_Thank you." _

'Very eloquently spoken, Harry.'

'I tried.'

"_Potter, this may sound strange to you. But, as soon as I regain control over the fifth _Indicendi_ what would you say about doing both: Learning how to enter a mind while shielding your own? Since you seem naturally adept at both, I think we'll make fast progress."_

_Harry could hardly believe his ears. Within the course of one evening, he had been complimented twice._

"_I would very much like to do this, Sir. Thank you." _

_The potions professor only nodded in response. _

_Another silence filled the room; neither of them seemed sure how to continue at that point. Harry took his time to look around the dark office with the cold walls and floor made of stone. He briefly wondered how comfortable the tall man was in here. He could never live in a dark place like this. _

"_Well, Potter, I assume we will see each other on Thursday in Potions. Unless I say otherwise, these lessons will resume regularly." Harry nodded._

_He was already on his way out, when Snape called him back. He instantly turned around looking rather hopeful. _

"_Your wand." _

"_Thank you."_

As emotionally draining as the lesson had been, he had never had a better feeling around Snape. He still hadn't apologized, but something more important had happened that evening: A great burden had been taken off his shoulders the very second the potions master had put two and two together.

Someone finally knew. Surly, his teacher couldn't care less, but he had permitted him to enter his shields for comfort if necessary. It was much more than he'd had before.

"Password?" Harry flinched, not having noticed that he was at the Portrait Hole. The Fat Lady looked at him expectedly.

"_Gyromitra esculenta_." Wordlessly she put her Portrait aside revealing the pathway into the Gryffindor Common Room. He entered, but immediately hit something solid. It was nothing else than Natalie McDonald's jaw (who was the new Chaser of the Quidditch team).

"Natalie. Merlin, I am sorry. Are you alright?" The only response was a painful hiss. He struggled back and helped her out of the Portrait Hole.

Tears were in her eyes, not that she was crying, but the sheer pain had caused her eyes to water.

"It's fine," she hissed. Her right hand pressed firmly against her chin, "you didn't do it on purpose. I didn't break anything, I think. You are aware that in order to reach the Great Hall you actually have to leave the Tower, right?"

Harry smiled a little, he had already met her in practice and to see her good-humoured side was a good sign.

"Sorry, I forgot something and had to go back."

"Do that, but be careful about running into other poor, unassuming third years. See you at the feast!"

Harry laughed quietly telling her he'd do that and went back to the Portrait Hole. He held out his hand to help a first year girl that was so tiny, she probably needed help every time she entered the Common Room.

He knew her. Her name was Charlotte and she was a member of the DC, the Defence Club that had been created due to Dennis' great idea.

Together with the teachers, they'd formed that group. Like this, everybody would have the opportunity to learn how to defend themselves. Lessons were on Monday evening and they were instructed by members of the DA under strict supervision of a teacher, all students up to third year were invited. This Monday had been their first meeting and Harry had been surprised at the amount of people arriving. Fifty people had been there, among them also Cara along with her friends. She was eager and a lot less shy around him than she had been on their first encounter. She seemed to be one of the only younger students not being awestruck when looking at Harry, which was why he cherished her presence since she had an encouraging effect on the others.

Nott's little sister had come, too, and Harry had briefly wondered if her brother knew about it.

"Thank you," Charlotte said shyly putting him out of his musings.

"You're welcome."

Ten people later, the way to the Common Room seemed finally cleared. He entered and walked directly towards the dorm.

A few minutes later he walked towards the Great Hall with Neville's wand in his pocket. He wasn't in any particular hurry.

He heard the faint sound of Irish music. It seemed the _Dancing Zombies_ had started their performance. With a faint smile, he drew closer.

"Potter," Snape's voice caused him to halt in his steps. Their next encounter yesterday in Potions had been awkward, either ignoring the other as well as possible.

"You are late."

Harry bit the 'so are you' back and said instead: "I am not in a particular hurry to join the celebration since I am not fond of irony."

Snape was quiet observing him thoroughly. He didn't seem content with the explanation.

"It's ironic that the Night of the Dead fifteen years ago was the night my parents were murdered and yet only two out of four hit by the killing curse actually passed away. It is ironic that two people lived through the Night of the Dead when neither of them should have been able to." He smiled sadly nodding respectfully and opened the door to the Great Hall.

As unobtrusively as possible he approached the Gryffindor table and sat next to Hermione and Ron handing Neville the desired wand.

The performance was impressive indeed, yet Harry wanted the feast to be over. He wondered if he'd ever be able to enjoy Halloween again.

Thankfully, a short time later, the performance ended and before the food appeared, Professor Dumbledore stood up and smiled at them.

Harry couldn't help but feel better. The man had this calming and comforting effect on him. No matter how draining the terms started, his welcome always lifted his mood, today the result was no different.

"Usually I do not hold long speeches before the meal, you will not hear them this evening either, however a few things have to be said: October ends tonight and therefore Professor Moody will have completed his two months at Hogwarts. Thank you very much for having taken this post, Alastor, though it hasn't been a lucky one for you in the past."

The hall erupted in applause. Moody had been one of the best instructors in Defence against the Dark Arts by far except for Professor Lupin. Everybody who had been there last year with Umbridge appreciated his knowledge even more.

Harry now understood why Dumbledore had wanted him to come. The new teacher would be introduced tonight. He was glad to have come.

"Thank you. Now I am asking for a warm welcome for your new instructor in Defence, who came all the way from Japan to fulfill his task: Sensei Moraku Aikokyushin." At that, the doors of the Great Hall opened and a wizard of Asian descent entered. He was rather short, not more than two inches taller than Hermione and his cloak differed from the ones worn in England or Europe in general. It looked more like the traditional Japanese gown worn by non-magical folk. It was impossible to determine his age, but he seemed slightly older than the youngest teacher of the staff (Snape) and looked younger than Professor McGonagall. His face was evenly built and, while he seemed strong, he was of a rather thin nature. His pace was well controlled and calm.

It took Harry only one glimpse to know that Dumbledore's choice in a teacher had been wise: He would demand a lot, but seemed to be fair.

"Sensei Aikokyushin will be with us until the end of this year," the headmaster spoke while their new colleague approached the staff table. None of his new colleagues seemed surprised, however, Harry was quite sure they were curious which indicated that they'd heard of the new professor but never met him face to face.

Standing in front of the tall, ancient wizard, their new teacher looked small in comparison. A heartfelt smile was seen on the older man's face. They bowed to each other and exchanged quietly some brief words. Harry doubted he would have understood them, even if they had talked louder, for they didn't seem to be speaking English.

When their new Professor sat down between Professor McGonagall and Snape (both being rather tall emphasized the lack of height of the new Defence teacher), finally the Hall erupted in applause. It had been very quiet when he'd walked through the Hall.

Ron used the noise to speak to Harry and Hermione.

"What is his name?"

Promptly Hermione answered: "He's Professor Aikokyushin since Sensei means teacher and Moraku is his first name."

"Thank you very much for your welcome," Dumbledore said, his tone betrayed his amusement, having of course noticed that Ron wasn't the only person asking that very question. He then looked at the new teacher, "I believe your year here will be one to remember."

Harry nodded slightly at that. It definitely would be. One could only hope that Professor Aikokyushin would remember his time at Hogwarts in a good way though the war indicated something else. Seeing the headmaster looking at the other man thoughtfully made it clear to Harry that Dumbledore's thoughts led in the same direction.

"Now I only have one more thing to say: Dig in!" With that, the meal appeared.

He continued watching the new teacher who carefully took some food without filling his plate completely. Professor McGonagall started a conversation with him. His facial expression was controlled, but he seemed to enjoy himself.

Snape was even more unreadable than the new teacher. He seemed to struggle with himself whether or not he should talk to the other man. He wondered what it had to be like to apply for the same position for fifteen years but never gaining it while having to meet the new people every year, most of them being completely incapable of actually fulfilling their duty.

Professor Aikokyushin then spoke some words directed at the Potions Master who seemed rather surprised. He then spoke as well, his lips barely moving. However, he didn't seem annoyed, only a little taken aback.

In the course of ten minutes an almost lively conversation began between the three teachers, with the occasional word thrown in by Professor Flitwick and Dumbledore. Hagrid sat next to the Charms teacher, but he was mostly talking to Professor Sprout to his left.

Harry would have given anything to know what they were talking about.

"Harry," Hermione said, shaking him out his musings "what do you think?"

For the rest of the evening, Harry found hardly any opportunity to take a glimpse at their new teacher. He was curious and very glad to have come.

* * *

Hello, everybody!

Here's the second part of the 9th chapter!

Thank you so much for all the encouraging reviews! Especially those who have been writing to me since the beginning. It's really nice of you to review more or less every chapter!

Hobesan: Hey! Thank you for reviewing ro regularely and I hope this part answered your question about the consequences of the "transfer"

Pellegrina: Gratuliere zum 4:0 gegen Argentinien :-)

reader1writer1: Thank you! When you wrote that you had to read the entire story at once I was thrilled: That is a great compliment. Thank you very much!

* * *

Next Chapter: _Chapter 9: Basic Form of Defence_


	14. Basic Form of Defense

**Chapter 10: Basic Form of Defense**

The Tuesday morning after Halloween began with the sixth year Gryffindors and Slytherins awaiting their first lesson with eagerness. They all wondered what their new Defense teacher would be like having heard very excited but cryptic reports of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs the day before (_"He's great, but you'll have to see yourself."_).

They all stood in front of the classroom chatting. Only a few minutes before class started he arrived greeting them all quietly. His voice seemed even, rather deep yet smooth. Though coming from Japan according to Dumbledore, his accent suggested him having lived in England for quite some time.

After he had opened the door, they entered and took their usual seats feeling even more excited than before. A little puzzled, Harry noticed that their new professor didn't hold the class register when stepping in front of them.

He wouldn't be starting by learning their names.

"What is the basic form of defense?"

The question was asked quietly. At first nobody spoke until Hermione lifted her hand.

"There is no need to lift your hands. As long as you do not interrupt each other, you may simply tell me what you think."

Hermione put her hand down and said: "Shielding Charms are very basic."

"I rather thought of the Disarming Charm," Seamus interjected. Dean nodded in agreement saying that it was the combination of both.

"Best defense is a good offence," Nott said, "If you suck at dueling, you won't stand a chance anyway." The rest of the Slytherins agreed including Blaise who added: "Theodore is right, but I think it's best to avoid a fight in the first place. More basic than that you cannot get."

Harry observed their new professor who seemed genuinely curious and no less observant than the young wizard who watched him.

Malfoy rattled down five spells that would indeed form a rather sophisticated defense, but Harry didn't agree unlike most of his class (including the Gryffindors albeit reluctantly).

Professor Aikokyushin (or Moraku as he was called in the castle because of his complicated last name) nodded: "That is indeed a solid defense, however I asked you about the most basic form of defense. Does anybody have another idea?"

Nobody spoke and Harry decided to add his opinion.

"Running, ducking, hiding," his voice was quiet but firm.

Silently Moraku nodded, standing now on the opposite of Harry's desk. The Boy-who-Lived was suddenly overcome by a foreboding feeling. Practically imperceptibly he bent his wrist slightly so the wand (which he was carrying in a wand-holder under his cloak these days) was at the ready.

Only guessing the drawing of the wand by his opponent, he reflexively jumped aside- raising his own wand while turning, immediately ready to fight.

At that, their new professor put his wand away showing his bare hands as a sign of peace.

Harry didn't think about lowering his wand. The abruptness of the attack had caused his heart rate to accelerate. Adrenaline rushed through his veins.

"I apologize for attacking you, Mr. Potter," Harry was a little surprised to see the man knowing his name since he hadn't noticed him examining his scar, "I knew that - since you are aware of the significance of physically avoiding an attack - you would be capable of defending yourself. I do hope that I didn't frighten you by it."

"Sir, except for one," Harry fell silent again when he thought of Professor Lupin's transformation in their third year, "no, actually every single Defense against the Dark Arts professor teaching at this school has either tried to kill, obliviate or at least harm me, Sir. I would be glad if you'd never do anything like this again."

"Once again, I apologize, Mr. Potter. Be assured it will never happen again unless you have received a proper warning beforehand."

Harry nodded slightly. The man was sincere; he was sure of it, so put his wand away.

The professor seemed to relax as soon as Harry lowered his defense. He walked back behind his own desk standing in front of the board focusing on the entire class.

"I personally agree with Mr. Potter and yet would take it even one step further, nearly as far as the gentleman over there," he gestured towards Blaise who nodded thoughtfully, "But maybe one of you will be able to find the answer. How was it possible for Mr. Potter to run, duck and hide as he said so himself?"

Some looked at Harry as if waiting for him to answer, others looked thoughtful.

"He was ready," Hermione said, "He tensed up the second you stood right in front of his desk. He expected a reaction."

Moraku nodded.

"Running, ducking, hiding… The most basic form of defense has nothing to do with magical power or weaponry. Your body is being attacked; your body has to react. But all is useless if your mind isn't ready. Alertness or as your last teacher in this subject said: Constant…"

"Vigilance," the class ended for him, some laughing, some rather exasperated.

This was the first time they saw their new professor smile: "There is a fine line however, between the alertness I am trying to teach you and the constant vigilance he talked about. I do not want you to believe that the next fight awaits you around the next corner. I hope to be able show you when a person has the actual intention to attack and when they don't. I want you to listen to your senses without becoming incapable of trusting others."

With those words he turned around and took the class register.

"This is my general goal for this class. Apart from this we will look at the art of deflecting curses, shields and wards. Tuesdays will deal with the theory and new spells while on Fridays I would like to do practical exercises with you. Does anybody have a question?"

"Aren't you afraid of the DADA curse?" Seamus asked raising his hand only to lower it again an instant later.

"Pardon me?"

"There is a jinx on this post," Dean explained, "Aren't you afraid of it?"

"As far as I heard, only if I intended to stay longer than a year would the curse have an effect." It was impossible to say whether the wizard was serious or not.

"What's your opinion concerning the war?" Pansy Parkinson asked, causing the whole room to stare at her. Harry felt his limbs go numb… Every night he expected Voldemort to use another Unspeakable and though it wasn't the case, the thought of having to experience this scar pain again hindered his rest. Apart from this, the more he was forced to watch, the more he was afraid of having to observe a friend or acquaintance of his be captured… He hated to be remembered of the war inside of a classroom. Nevertheless he knew that apart from reading the Daily Prophet in the morning this was one of the few moments when his class mates were confronted with the reality outside of the safe walls of Hogwarts.

He could only hope they would never suffer from the loss of a family member and would remain oblivious to the war. That Pansy's words were the closest they ever had to deal with. He knew his hopes were everything but rational.

Moraku looked at Pansy severely: "Miss…" Pansy said her full name, "Miss Parkinson, I think the fact I came here on Professor Dumbledore's request should already answer your question, but I will be frank: The dark wizard commonly known as Lord Voldemort has committed and is committing despicable crimes, at this point I am not even sure if he can even be called a human being for he has deprived himself of all humanity that might have been a part of him once. What he does to the soul of magic is barbaric and has absolutely nothing to do with greatness as his followers claim."

Harry was taken aback, not by the words themselves but the emotion they carried: disgust and horror mingled with the same fear he noticed in everybody (save Dumbledore) who mentioned Voldemort- and yet he had spoken the name aloud. He had to have stared since all of a sudden Moraku caught his gaze, looking at him curiously.

He then lifted the parchment containing the class register at a preferable height to read and started to name each student, though skipping Harry and Pansy.

When he was finished, he resumed with his lecture.

"Professor Moody gave me a detailed list of what you learned under his supervision and of what you still have to do. As I understand, you study nonverbal magic at the moment- we will of course come back to this on the practical lessons on Fridays unless I see you struggle with it. If that is the case we will be using part of our Tuesdays studying nonverbal magic instead of learning new spells, however let me say so much: An incantation is a mere help to focus on what you want except maybe for Charms where the wrong pronunciation can have disastrous consequences. However, note that I learnt the Japanese incantations at first and yet am able to have the same effect as you who use words with its roots in Latin. It is important that you have a clear image of what you want and by that I do not necessarily mean an actual picture. Some of you may respond better to one of the four other senses: sounds, smells, tastes and tactile sensations while the later is closely related to emotion as in experiencing the spell."

The Gryffindors plus Blaise and Millicent stared at their new professor all remembering that DA lesson one night when Harry had told them how every spell responded to all five senses and one simply had to find out which sense suited best. Hearing it from anybody else but Harry was rather surprising.

Harry's eyes glimmered, already feeling his respect rise. Yes, the man would do a good job as a teacher at Hogwarts.

Nott, Pansy, Malfoy and his two bodyguards looked a little puzzled and suspicious, though Harry would have bet a whole box of Chocolate Frogs on the fact that Goyle looked up in surprise and curiosity.

"Professor Moody also gave me a rather impressive list of all defense spells and counter curses you know. Additionally you have acquired much information about dark creatures thanks to Professor Lupin in your third year. This year we will more or less complete that knowledge, however, concerning spells I'd rather you perfect ten spells by training them a hundred times than have you practice one hundred spells only ten times. If you do not agree with this concept, remember that Mr. Malfoy gave a suggestion for a solid defense and it only contained five curses. Concerning dark creatures there is one more species I want you to be able to fight off and with this topic I want to begin our theory lesson: What do you know about Dementors?"

"They're huge, ugly things with hoods that cover their faces," Seamus said causing half of the class to smile though they sobered rather quickly.

"They feed off of positive emotion," Dean added.

"The Dementor's kiss is the highest punishment possible in British Wizarding law. It means that the Dementor steals the criminal's soul," Hermione said.

"After a Dementor was near you, the best thing you can do is eat some chocolate," Neville said.

"The Patronus Charm fights off an attack," Millicent added.

Moraku smiled slightly: "Very good. I see you already know what is essential concerning Dementors. Apart from learning the Patronus Charm we will also go further concerning the creature itself. Does anybody know something special about Dementors?"

"Muggles can't see them," Harry said thinking of Dudley, "When they're around you for too long all you have left are your very worst memories. So, their effect on you basically depends on what you've already experienced." He gulped slightly when he was thinking of Sirius, "As long as their thoughts are not completely focused on you, you can fight them off simply by concentrating on neutral or cold but not harrowing moments in your life. Like this there is nothing they can take. However, as soon as they attack you directly trying this would be futile."

Moraku nodded again. He was almost as difficult to read as Snape though Harry was unable to say if this had to do with Occlumency or simply because the man was just very collected and Harry had yet to learn how to read his emotions.

"The first Dementors were spotted thousands of years ago. It is said they existed ever since the human race started to form civilizations with cultural traditions and social formations beyond mere domestic organization. Others say that this occurred several hundred years later when those of magical capabilities decided to cut themselves off from those without magical abilities. What is known for sure is that Dementors are closely adapted to humans, their – for lack of a better word – digestive system is only able to bear the emotion of humans while beings like goblins, unicorns and those of elven ancestry who are known to feel as deeply as humans are completely unaffected by them." Harry wrote this down immediately. He hadn't known that.

Malfoy on the other hand only scoffed, probably because of Moraku's comment concerning house-elves.

Hermione looked at their new teacher with a mixture of admiration and happiness, Harry was suddenly afraid of her standing up and recruiting him for S.P.E.W.

Seemingly unaffected by the shifted atmosphere in the room, their new DADA teacher continued: "You have already mentioned – very correctly, I might add – the effect of their magic, however it is very little known about what exactly happens within the assaulted bodies nor is it common knowledge why chocolate has indeed a soothing effect. Acknowledged in Japan and slightly modified in some Eastern Asian countries is that Dementors have the ability to block the _Ki_ in a very specific way that causes the body to respond with a reaction resembling the common cold."

Several hands went up causing Moraku to lift his hands in a calming motion: "I believe you want to know what _Ki_ is: _Ki _is the force of life, its energy connecting mind, heart and body, basically it is the soul. By kissing their victims, Dementors steal their _Ki_."

The rest of the lesson was used to introduce the class to the Patronus Charm. When Moraku told them to take their wands and try to perform a silver streak, Harry couldn't help but feel curious at how the older wizard would take the fact that every Gryffindor was able to do this while some of them were even able to conjure a corporal Patronus.

"_Expecto Patronum!" _Almost simultaneously the incantation was spoken, the room filled with the student's voices. Harry only moved his mouth trying to call the Patronus nonverbally. It was so easy, it almost scared him.

Although he tried to keep the strength of his spell down, his deer simply could not be overlooked. Thankfully, his friends remained rather collected unlike the first time he had performed the spell during a DA lesson. Malfoy's little gang gaped in disbelief.

Moraku looked at his class noticing how most of them performed the spell well. The simple fact that all were able to create silver mist at their first try was already impressive in itself. It was nearly impossible to believe how many of his students managed to create a more or less corporal form of their Patronus. He had noted Mr. Potter only moving his lips for he had not heard the young wizard's voice. Hadn't he seen it by himself he wouldn't have believed that a sixteen-year-old would be able to nonverbally perform one of the purest of spells with such ease and power. He was deeply impressed, not only by Mr. Potter's performance, but the performance of the class as a whole.

"Excellent. You have never learnt to defend yourselves from Dementors, at least not in class, but I simply do not believe that the majority of this class has performed this spell for the first time. Would anybody care to explain?"

"We learnt this in our Defense Club, Professor," Miss Granger replied promptly.

Albus had of course told him of the DA as it was called by Professors Flitwick and McGonagall. It seemed almost impossible, but somehow Mr. Potter had managed to not only master the spell but to give this knowledge to his peers.

This fact deeply impressed him.

Harry of course noticed that he was being watched by his new teacher and since he didn't already want to be recognized as the odd one of the class, he decided to dim his deer's glow hoping it would fade in the background.

He recalled the feeling of flying and that special sensation when parting through the mist. Unfortunately his attempt worked a little bit too well: Within seconds the class room was soaked with white mist while every single corporal Patronus had dissolved. Harry murmured a _Finite_ (the mist disappeared instantly) hoping Moraku hadn't noticed.

That hadn't exactly gone as planned.

His friends looked at each other a little confused and then looked from Moraku to Harry.

"Very impressive," the new professor said and Harry couldn't tell whether he meant the entire class or he had noticed who had caused the mist.

"I see that there are great disparities in this class, but I am confident that all of you are able to reach an evenly high level during the next few weeks." At that the bell rang.

He dismissed them, wishing a nice day and telling them he wouldn't give them any homework for today. Nevertheless, he alluded this would be the only time he would be doing this.

They all left their DADA lesson in a great mood, even Malfoy and his friends were unable to criticize anything more than chastising the wizard's lack of belief in the purity of blood.

Meanwhile, Professor Snape was in his office organizing the papers he had to grade. Since this wasn't exactly a task which required his full attention he let his mind wander to his next class or to be more precise to the one student whom he had despised not so many weeks ago.

When Snape had read the letters that had been handed in accidently (these days he was sure it had been unintentional), he had been confused. Later he had to realize just how wrong he had been about Potter. He had started to give the boy a chance trying hard to overlook the fact that the child was proof of him having lost Lily's love to James Potter. By doing so, he had seen the boy to be an intelligent student who seemed to have the desire to hide this as well as possible. Apart from this the child was an excellent teacher, well-respected among his peers and reasonably talented if not downright powerful concerning his talents in mind magic.

Nevertheless, what had occurred in their lesson last week had given him an insight in the boy's life he had never thought possible underlining once more just how wrong he had been:

First of all there had been the discussion concerning the shields and Potter's talent in mind magic which was downright frightening. He remembered the thoughtful and slightly puzzled look on the headmaster's face when he had told him that a sixteen-year-old had managed to enter his mind _effortlessly, _while others couldn't even by using all their power.

Then there had been Potter's unexpectedly cunning side while trying to avoid a topic he didn't want to speak about. Hadn't the Sorting Hat confirmed Potter's words, he still would have been indecisive whether or not the boy had spoken the truth concerning the sorting. Ever since hearing it, he wondered what would have been different had Harry Potter indeed been sorted into Slytherin. He marveled how they would have gotten along these last five years had he been under his care.

Two vastly different occurrences however had shaken the very foundation of Snape's inner balance:

The boy had been grossly neglected, abused even. Merely thinking about it caused his blood to boil. Lily's son had been treated terribly at his relative's house. Only minutes after having dismissed Potter he had confronted the headmaster about it whose reaction had been quite terrifying.

"_Headmaster, today I have found out something I think you should know about. Note however that I promised Potter not to say anything. But since this matter concerns his welfare I think you should know: Potter has been grossly neglected by his relatives."_

_Dumbledore only looked at him sadly, his expression disillusioned: "I know, Severus. He was raised in a harsh environment, was screamed at too many times and was shown too little love. I know it is only thanks to Harry's unique soul that instead of depriving himself of all love he practically indulged in it and instead of cowering at the sound of harsh words learnt to be self-reliant. I've never meant him to learn all this at so young an age." He bowed his head and shook it slightly. _

_Seeing the headmaster in this state was alarming, and the Potions Master could only imagine what effect his following words would have on Dumbledore: "They didn't provide him a room, Albus. They kept him – or they still do, I wouldn't know – in a cupboard under the stairs."_

_He had expected the man to fall apart at the news- what he hadn't expected was the look of uncontained fury. With a loud shatter, the unbreakable windows of Hogwarts inside of the office exploded causing the younger man to jump back. _

_Suddenly reminding of ice, blue eyes searched the dark ones of his younger colleague. The older man's hands and facial expression were so calm; it frightened the Potions Master even more. He drew some steps back._

"_What did you just say, Severus?" However, it was clear the question was rhetorical. There had been no misunderstanding. Slowly Dumbledore stood up, his eyes blazed angrily, in fact, the last time Snape had seen the former transfiguration teacher so furious had been another case of abuse he had brought to the headmaster's attention. _

"_I cannot believe this," Dumbledore said quietly, his words cutting through the tense air, "I knew his uncle was an insufferable, narrow-minded man, but I would have never thought that Petunia hated her sister so deeply that she would let this happen."_

"_It is true that she once might have loved her sister, Albus," Snape remembered the two girls playing with each other as if it had been yesterday, how surprised he had been to see that _she_, that beautiful, red-haired girl was indeed a witch, "but that vanished as soon as she hadn't been allowed to go to Hogwarts along with her." At that he remembered the countless times he'd awkwardly tried to console his friend after a nasty fight with her older sister. _

_The Potions Master saw the anger shift in the man's eyes. He was furious with himself: "I was such a fool, such an arrogant supposedly all-knowing fool." It had been spoken so quietly, Snape was unsure to have heard this statement properly. _

"_He will not return to his relatives, whether they have now decided to provide him a room or not," Snape stated rather than asked, "He doesn't deserve this." _

_To his surprise he heard frustration in the older man's sharp voice: "Of course, he doesn't, Severus. Nobody does and he has gone through enough, but since his godfather is dead and he has no other living blood-relatives, it is not possible to give him another shelter without putting those involved in grave danger. You have now seen what kind of person Harry is. Do you truly believe he would ever agree to this?"_

_Snape pondered a moment: "We have a whole year, headmaster. We'll find a way." _

_It took him a moment to realize of him having used the word "we" instead of "you"._

The other occurrence that had almost caused him to embrace the child had been the realization of the true nature of the boy's visions: Harry Potter was empathic; he felt other people's sentiments. The mere thought was enough to send a shiver down his spine. How, in Merlin's name, had the boy been able to stay sane these past few months?

There were few people whom he respected and even less he felt actual regard for, but Harry had managed the former if not the later as well.

The headmaster must have had his suspicions since the news didn't shock him as much as the Potions Master had expected. To hear the confirmation however had caused the man to lose what little sparkle had been left in his eyes.

When he had asked the older man what they should do, he received an answer he had not expected at all:

"_I've tried to have Harry confide in me more than once, but he hasn't approached me," a wistful smile was on the wise wizard's face, "I cannot say that I blame him if you look at my mistakes of the past." He then looked at Snape seriously: "But he opened up to you and before you contradict me, yes, you more or less found it out yourself, nevertheless he responded to your consolations. The only thing I can say is that you approach him without pressuring him."_

That talk and the happenings of their last Occlumency lesson had the effect of him completely avoiding Potter in their last Potions lesson. Halloween had been the only time of them actually holding a conversation.

He was ashamed of the way he had once again been incapable of approaching Potter without chastising the boy. He still inwardly cringed thinking of his cold "You are late". Of course Harry Potter wasn't fond of Halloween. This time of year was always the hardest for Snape as well.

It was strange how that Halloween evening bothered him since he hadn't even been at his worst. These last few weeks when he reflected on his general behaviour towards Potter, he had started to feel uncomfortable at first, a sentiment that slowly morphed into guilt of a magnitude only comparable to the guilt he felt when reminded of his deeds as a faithful Death Eater slightly more than fifteen years ago.

He had always bragged of his refusal to hurt children while under the Dark Lord's commands. It had always soothed his shattered soul that though committing terrible crimes as a Death Eater (whether as faithful follower or spy), he at least never hurt those weaker than him.

The more he thought about his behaviour towards Potter (or children like Neville Longbottom, but Potter most especially), he was deeply ashamed of himself. The worst thing was that he was now in a position where he had no choice but treat all students that were not Slytherins as poorly as he had so far since everything else would promise instant death.

They were mere children, for Merlin's sake, Harry was not his father… He then had realized that he was even worse a bully than James Potter- who at least had chosen to torment a peer, no matter how unfairly he had done so occasionally (by ganging up with his friends). Potter had always attacked someone who was in intellect and power on his level. Snape on the other hand had decided to attack a mere eleven-year-old. He was disgusted with himself, more than he had ever been before.

It should have been him writing a letter of apology, not Harry.

He heard his sixth years talking in front of the classroom door and walked towards it. Right before he opened the doors, he heard muffled voices.

"_Moraku is interesting, isn't he?" Miss Midgen asked. The Hufflepuff had had their lesson the day before. _

"_He's impressive," Miss Bulstrode answered (obviously, Mr. Zabini was in need of an arithmetical mind), then asked: "What do you think?" The question had obviously been directed at Miss Granger._

"_He is very well informed and seems to know a lot about magic in general. I was fascinated about his explanation of the _Ki_. I'll have to do research about this."_

"_I heard he is a _Reiki_," Miss Boot said._

"_What's a _Reiki_?" This was the first time he heard Potter's voice. _

"_They are a special group of Japanese Healers, I don't know much about it, but I think it has a lot to do with this _Ki_ he was talking about," Mr. Zabini answered, impressing his Head of House by displaying this rather obscure kind of knowledge though he shouldn't be surprised._

"_How do you know?" Miss Midgen promptly asked._

"_My mother is a healer working at St Mungo's," was the answer. _

Having heard enough he opened the door.

It had been a month ever since they had started their projects and to be honest, he was intrigued. He was looking forward to their reports since he'd rarely had a class as promising as this one.

He had always been slightly wistful that the Weasley twins never attended to his NEWT class for though they were troublemakers, they had never bullied anybody and were reasonably smart having an impressive flair for potions. Had they been in his NEWTs for the last two years, the quality of that class would have been comparable to this one.

Without truly greeting his students he told them to hand in their reports and focus back on their project.

While they did as he said, he sat down skimming through their papers.

_The most common way to prepare the Mandrake root is to peel or slice it; however it is discussed that the chopping of the Mandrake root causes the restorative effect to be less uncomfortable._

Snape nodded at that, he had used that knowledge less than four years ago when brewing the potion to cure the petrified victims of the Basilisk.

Miss Midgen had created some sort of map that she had handed in, first a descriptive report of her goals and the plan of how she intended to succeed, along with a report claiming what she'd found out so far. To his surprise there were some personal notes in the map.

_I know what you mean, but Ernie is just like this. Give him a chance._

He cursed his talent to read rather fast and put down the note.

"Miss Midgen, could you please come forward," a little surprised she did as she was told. Only a second later, her face was a red that would have made the Weasleys proud.

"I'll take them out," she whispered (squeaked more like) and took her map. Forcing himself to contain his amusement, he took Miss Boot's report and noticed that her process was different: Her plan to process wasn't in her map anymore, however the introduction to her topic was already written out.

He would read this after his Occlumency lesson with Potter this evening.

Mr. Malfoy had written down in detail of his successful experiments, but those that had failed were hardly or not at all mentioned. He wrote this down as a critical point. Scientific work was supposed to be unbiased; the sooner Lucius' son knew that the better.

When he looked at Miss Granger's file he almost declared an upper limit, but decided in the end not to do it. It seemed as if she'd handed in her entire research instead of a report. He would read this when he found a calm hour to indulge in the interesting but demanding subject.

Mr. Zabini's report on the other hand was short and to the point, explaining the arithmetic process to reach his goal and a rather philosophical approach to a potion's flow as introduction to his paper. If Mr. Zabini continued his work, he might be able to publish this in a scientific journal.

Mr. Nott mostly did research and basically handed in a list of books he currently read, some of them being close to forbidden.

Ms. Parkinson's report was much more interesting to read than Mr. Nott's. Her first topic was the common invisibility cloak whose fabric was dipped in a special potion called _Latebrae_. She also heard about the Japanese equivalent of the potion that was called _Kage_ (shadow). Her report he read in the course of the lesson while he was sometimes interrupted by one of his students who'd ask questions.

Nearly at the end of their double lesson he found the time to look at Harry's (_Potter_!) work: Not unlike Miss Midgen he'd once again put in his plans, but unlike her it was a lot shorter looking almost like a timetable.

It seemed as if he would spend the first few months with research and later with experimental tests while one or two already seemed to have been planned in detail albeit there was no real recipe written down.

Carbon seemed to have fascinated Potter and _Potions and Chemistry_ was part of his reading list. Some historic reading he seemed to be doing as well, especially ancient Egyptian protection wards were mentioned in his report (undoubtedly he had required some help from the eldest Weasley brother and curse-breaker to receive proper information).

The bell rung and Snape dismissed them putting the reports away, admittedly with reluctance, but he had to go for lunch if he wanted to eat anything before his first lesson in the afternoon.

He was almost at the Great Hall when Professor Aikokyushin was suddenly beside him coming from another way.

"Good day, Professor Snape," the older man said softly.

"Good day."

So far, the Potions Master had never had any difficulty with hating the Defense teachers, so why was it that these days – when it was a vital necessity for him to dislike them – a new teacher had to arrive whose presence he could actually stand? He'd never thought to see the day he'd wish Gilderoy Lockhart back in the staff. All he could do was holding a certain distance to that man. His demeanor didn't seem to aggravate the healer (he indeed was one of the few magical Reiki who walked this earth); it was more the contrary actually. The man seemed to prefer reserved people and they had held some very interesting conversations concerning magic and potions (the man was not potions master, but his knowledge was quite impressive). By now, Snape had given up on being openly hostile. It wouldn't have been a convincing act.

Instead, he had decided to remain distant but polite thus claiming to gain useful information for the Dark Lord (should one of his very talkative Snakes slip the knowledge to his "master"). The problem he now had was to actually remain distanced. It was very refreshing to have a smart conversation with someone other than Albus, Minerva or Filius and the man's own rather reserved demeanor automatically required certain openness from his part.

"Have you had any interesting classes so far?" it was a rhetorical question since Snape was quite sure the new Defense teacher was attentive enough to see the potential in his and Minerva's sixth years.

"Very," he replied and opened the door to the Great Hall, "I was quite impressed, I must admit. Some are exceptionally well informed, others are remarkably talented. Or both."

"Anybody in particular?" Snape couldn't help but feel a little curious how an outsider viewed Harry Potter. Despite being famous across the borders of Great Britain, the son of the Potters wasn't as popular in the world in general as he as in Europe. Even if he were, Professor Aikokyushin seemed to be a man that didn't listen to mere gossip or that would worship someone without reason.

"I think you already know the answer, Professor Snape." He had to contain a smirk. It truly was refreshing to speak to someone who challenged him and wouldn't accept anything else but him displaying his full intelligence and logic.

* * *

First of all: I am so sorry for this chapter taking so long. I hope the next one will come sooner.

Thanks for all those that are still interested in reading the stoy.

Please read and review!

_Next Chapter_: Finding Common Ground


	15. Finding Common Ground, Part One

**Chapter 11, part one: Finding Common Ground**

Snape was nervous. He couldn't help it.

He wished he'd agreed on their meeting last week for it seemed as if postponing their lessons had done more harm than good to his mind and soul.

He restlessly walked about his office, waiting for Lily's son to enter when Fawkes appeared. For the first time since they'd started their Occlumency lessons, the wise bird didn't look either critical or accusing. It seemed as if the phoenix was aware of his change of heart.

The characteristically quiet tone of Harry's (_Potter's!_) knock caused Snape to startle. He slowly exhaled air to calm down before the young man entered. He sought the necessary calmness deep within his Occlumency shields – stubbornly ignoring that voice which told him that if the young wizard really wanted to, he could gain knowledge of his inner turmoil effortlessly – and waited for the door to open.

It didn't.

The Potions Master furrowed his eyebrows, feeling a little confused. Why wasn't he entering?

Once again, the quiet knock was heard making him realize he hadn't allowed the teenager to enter his office. If possible, he felt even guiltier about his way of treating Lily's son for the kid obviously was determined to respect his privacy.

"Enter," he said, surprised to hear how indifferent his voice sounded. His lack of inner calm was covered up and he was glad about it.

Just as silently as he had knocked, Harry Potter entered Snape's office.

_He truly carries his heart on his sleeve._

The young man (_child, Merlin, he was only a child!_) looked nervous and insecure one moment only to brighten up considerably the next when he recognized the headmaster's phoenix.

Maybe it was because he'd never given him a reason to smile or because he simply didn't want to see it, but when he saw the happiness on the boy's face while looking at Fawkes, Snape suddenly saw Lily so clearly it took him aback. Harry had his mother's smile.

How anybody who'd seen him smile could say he looked like James Potter was a riddle to him. There was nothing of that arrogance or cockiness Snape had been accustomed to see on Potter's face. That trademark smirk which had belonged to his insufferable rival as much as that stupid snitch did not exist

How could he have possibly been that abdominally wrong?

But even if the boy was gracious enough to forgive Snape's behaviour towards him, there was no way he could ever forgive the role he'd played in that fateful night that had ended the first war but claimed the Potter's lives.

Only that knowledge kept him from apologizing the moment those emerald green eyes looked at him.

"Good evening, Professor," Harry said (_Pot… Oh, whom am I trying to kid?_), looking apprehensive.

"Good evening, Mr Potter. Please, sit down," he spoke quietly as always, but hoped his words had not sounded as cold as they usually did when he hid his feelings behind the mask that was his Occlumency shield.

Seeing Potter shrink a little dishevelled all hope he might have had earlier.

He calmly walked behind his desk and sat down. For a moment there was silence that couldn't have been louder.

He carefully put the stack of paper that contained his sixth years' projects aside to reveal a very old book; however its cover, made of black coloured leather, was in excellent condition.

"You've said during one of our earlier lessons that you had been unable to find a copy of _Praesidium liquidus_. You may lend mine, for judging by your last report carbon will be of great importance for your project. Without this book, whatever you may write, will lack a significant amount of knowledge."

The emerald eyes widened and it seemed as if Harry's lungs had forgotten to work properly, if only for a moment. Carefully, Harry reached forward and took the book with both of his hands almost caressing it.

"You own a copy of this book?" When Snape recognized the young man's child-like enthusiasm, he couldn't help but marvel about how utterly resilient the "Boy Who Lived" actually was, because not becoming bitter was the greatest challenge for all those who dealt with as much evil and darkness as Harry Potter.

He nodded in response to that question, but he was sure that his gesture hadn't been noticed for his student's attention was back on the precious book.

"I've only read about this book. There are hardly any copies left and since it's said that the old editions _refuse_ to be multiplied there's no way to gain more…" Harry hesitated for a moment before he looked directly at his teacher, "How _did_ you get hold off a copy?"

Snape was glad to hear that the emphasis was on the action of gaining the book rather than wondering why _he_, the greasy bat from the dungeons, had been capable of acquiring a book so many others wished to possess.

"It was a gift from my teachers when I completed my studies in the Mastery of Potions-Making," he was incapable of banning the pride from his voice. He kept himself from stiffening in anticipation for he simply did not want a Potter to taint the one victory he had had his entire life…

Harry opened his mouth in awe only to close it again. Snape saw him gulp a little.

"That… must have taken time, sir."

There was a question behind that statement and the young Potions Master had to suppress a wince when he could literally watch Lily's son calculating: He didn't know for sure how much Harry Potter knew about his parents, but they'd had Harry by the time they'd all turned twenty, thus creating a maximum time-frame of three years for Snape to become a Potions Master and joining the Dark Lord.

"Generally, it would take eight years, Mr Potter. However, it took me two." He hoped the child wouldn't calculate. He didn't need to know. He knew too much already.

Fortunately, the fact he had been able to reduce his study time considerably seemed to outweigh the logical conclusion that he had joined the Dark Lord before he'd finished his studies. He hated being reminded of how much devastation he had caused by secretly researching the deadliest poisons in the course of his studies, potions that could mimic the pain of the Cruciatus Curse… And oh, how thrilled he had been that someone had finally chosen to notice him, how much he had craved for his Master's praise, which was rarely given, making it more precious… Barely suppressing a shudder he looked up.

He couldn't remember when he had started to examine the dark wood his office-table was made of.

"Wow," Potter (_Harry!... When had that cynical voice of his been replaced by that quiet and annoying one?_) finally got out, "That's amazing. You must have been very young."

"The youngest in a century," he replied and immediately furrowed his eyebrows when he saw the boy smile wildly at that, "Does this amuse you, Potter?"

Where had that 'Mister' gone? At least, the brat's smile was gone, but Fawkes looked at him sharply, fury was evident in the bird's eyes when he flew closer to Potter who – not unlike he had during their first lesson – hushed the phoenix which instantly calmed down.

"Not at all, Professor. It amazes me, yes, but it doesn't amuse me. I had to smile because I…" then he flushed, hesitating, "Well, it's not comparable…"

The Dark Lord was often said to be the most powerful dark wizard in a century (albeit only fools would say so. Given what he had seen with the Indicendi, the Dark Lord was much worse than that…), but for Potter to brag about what had obviously been the deeds of greater men and women than a mere one-year-old… Dismissing his accomplishments as if they were nothing…

"I mean, youngest Hogwarts Seeker in a century is nothing compared to youngest Potions Master, but it has a nice ring to it…"

…Never again would he mock Famous Harry Potter. Never again. And he had believed him arrogant?

The headmaster had called himself a supposedly all-knowing fool. He, Severus Snape, was an idiot.

The boy was modest, to a fault in fact. He would see to that, slowly and carefully. Cunning like the snake that was the symbol of his House.

"It is an accomplishment, nevertheless, Mr Potter." The tentative smile he received for his clumsily chosen words was heart-breaking.

"Well, our last lesson we…" They looked at each other only to avoid eye-contact an instant later, "We talked about the principles of your Occlumency shields and they are rather unique." He was quiet for a moment and decided to start small with his questions, "Who gave you the idea?"

"Hermione."

_Of course._

"She lent me that book: _Mind's Magic_."

The Potions professor knew this lecture of course, but how could a book that mainly contained information about nonverbal magic be relevant for Potter's (_Harry's!_) shields?

He voiced his question.

"It didn't at first. Reading that book was frustrating." That was an interesting choice of words: Snape had always thought it to be very helpful. "It always spoke of visualization and that's just not the way I… Anyway, there was that short chapter which spoke of empathy and that was when I realized that my emotions have always been a weapon when it came to facing Voldemort," the Potions Master glared at the younger man, "Sorry, I mean facing _him_."

"And that made you realize you were empathic?" Snape was confused. Empathy wasn't an ability that could be learnt. True Empaths, the way Lily's son was, were rare, actually so rare one couldn't even say it was passed through family. Most of them became Healers like Hippocrates or teachers like Merlin. Some said Dumbledore was an Empath, but not even Snape had ever received conformation to that statement. Not all Empaths had been as powerful as Merlin or Hippocrates, but most of them had some specialty, a gift to create things, to heal…

The fewer people knew about Potter's _special ability_ the better since the Daily Prophet would be having a field-day with this news.

"No," Harry answered shaking Snape out of his musings, "Not really. I just realized that it was all about emotions, that I had to embrace them and not shut them out." '_The way you told me to,' _he heard Mr Potter's implication, although he didn't say it.

"When did you realize you were empathic?" Confusion was evident in Harry's face. His eyes were opened wide for a moment before he furrowed his eyebrows thinking.

"I don't know… I… I didn't until you told me." It was Snape's turn now to look confused.

"Sure, I felt what _they _felt, but I simply thought it was part of my shields… Within the past few months I started to notice things: That eye contact helps to calm them down or that my shields can help others, all I have to do is wrap them around their hearts… minds, I'm not sure."

Snape suddenly had the urge to slam his head against a wall. Potter reached beyond the very limits of mind magic and was absolutely clueless about it: being capable of wrapping Occlumency shields around other minds, protecting others… It was unheard of and Lily's son spoke of it casually, as if it could be done effortlessly.

And as if that wasn't enough, either Potter's empathic abilities had been awakened by those shields or the shields had been made thanks to this ability. He wasn't sure which one it was. He'd probably never know.

"And you do that every night?" Harry flinched at the question.

'_Be more subtle!' _He admonished himself.

A soft, quavering tone coming from Fawkes caused Harry to relax considerably. He reached forward and softly caressed the phoenix, which closed his eyes in return.

"I'm trying," the sixteen year old wizard answered quietly, "I can't always help. Sometimes they just… give up." Snape had seen those more times than he could count. Those who had been too afraid, too agitated and then slipped into deep depression, not to be awakened ever again. "And these days, it's harder… the fifth curse. It scares me."

Now it was the Potions professor's turn to flinch. He tried to think as little as possible about that knowledge he'd buried deep within his mind. He still didn't feel confident enough to probe the student's mind or let his mind be probed, but it was better than it had been. Nevertheless, it was painful.

The headmaster had told him of Harry's report concerning Bellatrix's change of character. Oh, he had noticed, but he hadn't been there to witness the reason. Other than the rat's fate… He didn't feel the slightest compassion for the man who'd betrayed Lily, but the fifth curse of the Indicendi was the most terrible one he'd ever heard of. By what he knew – and he knew more than most – it was worse than being kissed by a Dementor.

"Does he use it often?" He didn't know why he asked. He just did.

"No," the child's eyes were wide as he leaned back in his chair. "No. He fears it… I think. I mean… I know what fear feels like and it's not quite what he feels while using the curse. He's… curious and scared or humbled… I don't know. He isn't quite comfortable with it, not comparable to the easy way he uses the Unforgivables. But it's his greatest weapon, and he knows that." The quiet, earnest way Harry deducted the Dark Lord's feelings terrified Snape.

They studied each other… The Dark Lord was eager to learn about Potter, his weaknesses. He'd known that for a long time. He hadn't realized that this _curiosity _went both ways, albeit he doubted the younger wizard did so willingly.

Harry had no other choice. Nobody wanted to get inside of the Dark Lord's head or soul.

Wings flapped and Snape looked at Fawkes, whose eyes were fixed on the boy. When the Potions Master saw the tension, he decided to leave the subject for the moment.

"I think that was quite a bit for tonight, Mr Potter," the boy with the unruly hair blinked at him and when he saw the pained expression he simply knew he couldn't let the boy go to bed like this. He quickly thought of something… anything he could ask, "When I was probing your mind, Mr Potter, there was a scent," _Why? Why couldn't he think of a better subject than Lily?_, "It's faint, but it's there…" He could still tell every single ingredient he had used were he just able to voice it.

"I didn't add smells consciously, Sir. I'm sorry. I just added smells that made me comfortable… Where are you going?" He said when he noticed Snape standing up.

"Wait there, Mr Potter." He walked towards a cupboard in which he kept some of his potions, opened it and it took him two seconds to get the right vial. He handed it over to Lily's son, "Smell this."

Harry opened the vial, closed his eyes and breathed, relaxation came within seconds. The boy felt safe, that was evident.

"I know this smell," Potter whispered, "I just can't place it."

Snape's heart clenched violently at that. It simply wasn't fair Lily was only a faint memory to her son. Things weren't supposed to be like this.

"It's the component of a potion a student at this school once created, about twenty years ago. It was also your mother's perfume."

"Mum's?" The word was spoken breathlessly and so vulnerably Snape's chest tightened even more.

"Yes." Never before had he been so grateful for his Occlumency shields.

"That's why it feels safe," the boy said quietly to himself.

Suddenly, Snape's heart skipped a beat: He knew that scent. Harry knew Lily's perfume, which meant she'd continued wearing it although their friendship had ended… A short moment of untainted happiness was replaced by absolute dread when he was reminded once more of how much he'd failed her.

Oblivious to his teacher's inner turmoil, Harry looked up and smiled: "Thank you, Sir. Thanks for showing me this."

Suddenly, the student's demeanour grew serious: "Professor Snape… I, before I leave, I just wanted to…" _Oh, Merlin! I admitted I had been wrong… Do you truly want to rub my face in it? Torture me with my stupidity and blindness? _"Sir, it was wrong of me to peek into your Pensieve last year. For that I apologize." _You obviously do._

His unyielding eyes had to have lasted for a little too long on his young student for the boy started to shrink into his chair.

And that simply didn't fit.

Harry Potter wasn't timid in general.

Modest, definitely. Quiet, most of the time. Endlessly trying to fade in the background, albeit always failing, yes. But he was courageous.

Where had that boy gone capable of fighting off the Dark Lord? Admittedly, he'd never seen an encounter between the two mortal enemies, but he'd heard enough to know (and was not as blind as he'd been which meant he could admit) how insanely brave the young wizard before him was, confident and upright.

That insecure child before him would be crushed by the Dark Lord in a heartbeat.

Oh, he had personally experienced how protective Harry was towards his friends and had seen how firmly he stood in the way of injustice, but when it came to himself, Harry seemed to have lost all will to fight.

Of course, the entire principle of empathy was based on the perception of the feelings of others, but such a gift (or curse, it solely depended on the situation) shouldn't demand from its bearers to give themselves up. It was wrong.

There wasn't much he could do about it for the moment. What he could do however, was resolve the situation.

"Mr Potter…" He said, hesitantly, "I know. I… A few weeks ago when you handed in the plan for your project, you must have accidently added the letters that were meant for me. I accept your apology." The last sentence sounded empty, compared to the crimes he had committed, Harry had done nothing that would demand an apology.

Harry blushed deeply, obviously uncomfortable, but mostly he seemed surprised: "I couldn't find… But then I thought that Ron might've… Well, I… You accept?"

The last words were spoken insecurely to a point it was heart-breaking.

"As I've told you before, you honoured my privacy to the point you didn't speak of what you saw and as dismissing my privacy hadn't been your chief goal when you entered the Pensieve, it would be unwise to punish you for it." He wanted to smile reassuringly, but had found out years ago that his smile was usually met with terror rather than appreciation. All he could do therefore was lift his Occlumency shields just enough for the young Empath to see his sincerity. For that, he received a hesitant, but honest smile with blazing emerald eyes.

The smile only lasted for a moment to be replaced by a solemn expression: "You asked me… You thought I had been enjoying what I saw…"

Indeed he had, but the incident with Ms Nott and later the confrontation with Mr Smith had proven the contrary. He was about to say something, when Lily's son continued, "I _hated _it."

Fierce emerald eyes bore into Snape's soul and he forgot to breathe for a moment. Harry bore the same expression his mother had that most fateful day by the lake.

"Everybody has always told me what a great man my father was… except for you," a hollow laugh followed that statement, "Even Voldemort… Sorry, _him_. Even he said how courageous my father had been. So, why would I believe you? You were the only one who refused to help drawing that perfect picture of my dad everybody else was so willing to describe, even my mortal enemy. You were the odd one out, so I ignored your statement," a thoughtful silence followed before the young student exclaimed, "Which is stupid! I've _always_ been the odd one out, but it doesn't mean that I was wrong last year when I said Volde…_he_ was back. I'm sorry, Professor. I should have at least bothered to listen to you."

'_Why? Because my behaviour towards you has been so honourable?'_

"He's your father, Mr Potter. Of course you wanted to think the best of him." He had too, long ago, before finally giving up, but that was irrelevant. James Potter had been an arrogant, insufferable brat, but despite Potter's wicked sense of humour it would be wrong to compare the boy's father with his own.

"He was a bully," Lily's son replied sharply, "He was arrogant and he had no right…"

At that, Severus Snape felt ashamed: He had spent _years_ – long after James Potter had been murdered by the Dark Lord – imagining just how exactly he would revenge years of misery. He had decided to let the son pay for the father's sins. But today, he'd found out that nothing would torment James Potter as much as to know that his own son was disappointed in him.

He was ashamed because he had the sudden urge to laugh into James Potter's face in triumph, albeit he knew that this confession had to be painful for the sixteen-year-old.

"How could he do it? I mean…," The desperate tone made all triumphant feelings disappear. "Boredom as a reason for harassing a contemporary who hadn't shown the slightest inclination to fight and then not to attack alone but to get his friend's help, because he was too much of a coward to fight one-on-one… You must be one hell of an opponent, Professor." '_Take this, Potter and Black!' _

There was silence for a moment, before Harry (and Harry he would stay) spoke again: "Did they… Did they call it a name?"

"What do you mean, Mr Potter?"

"They used to call it Harry-Hunting," the Boy Who Lived lowered his head, eyes fixed on the table, "At Primary School… They used to call it Harry-Hunting. Did they give it a name, too?"

"…_Just teaching a little lesson, you know, a little snake-hunting, if you know what I mean…"_

Snape suddenly heard Kevin Withby's voice again and understood the anger now with clarity he hadn't thought possible.

"No, they didn't." He didn't know what else to say. What could he possibly say?

"I'm sorry about what they did."

How bittersweet that statement tasted… James Potter's son apologizing in his name… so bittersweet.

"I'm fairly certain you did not participate in the activity, Mr Potter," he replied carefully.

"They can't apologize anymore, so I'll do it for them," there was so much pain in that statement Snape decided to remain silent for it seemed like the only safe thing to do.

"I see…"

"It's just," Harry began and was silent for a moment, seemingly looking for the right words, "When my cousin apologized, it really changed things between us. I know it's not the same, but I thought maybe it would give you some peace."

A scathing comment was on top of his tongue ("I couldn't care less about Potter or Black, they don't particularly contribute to my peace of mind."), but he kept it at bay for the benefit of his curiosity: "Your cousin?"

"Yes," he seemed a little confused, "Harry-Hunting? That was his idea of fun. He apologized, though. We now write to each other once every other week. It's nice." The dubious look on his teacher's face caused him to explain a little more thoroughly, "He was there when the Dementors attacked last year. They made him think." An almost imperceptible shudder followed that statement, "Never thought I'd be grateful for a Dementor attack."

Snape schooled his features, but he was sceptical. Bullies never changed, but he refrained from saying it aloud which had absolutely nothing to do with the fact he feared that statement could be flung right back into his face. Nothing at all.

However… his cousin? That whale of a Muggle he'd seen on various occasions? He'd seen glimpses of what could remotely be called taunting, but nothing out of the ordinary… Harry must have been better at Occlumency than he'd ever expected.

Once again there was silence; it seemed as if both had run out of things that could be said without entering dangerous or strenuous territory. The apology had finally been spoken and accepted, but since most of the guilt laid on the older man's shoulders, it didn't resolve everything. But they'd both now taken a different path from what had been.

'_It doesn't matter,' _Snape thought sadly, '_he'll never forgive my crimes.'_ What he'd done could not be forgiven.

"Well, I…" Harry started, "Good night, Professor. Bye, Fawkes!" It was rather impertinent behaviour, but for once Snape couldn't scold him when the younger man quickly walked towards the door, _Praesidium liquidus_ securely tucked in between chest and his right arm. As soon as the heavy door closed quietly, Snape said: "Good night, Mr Potter."

Fawkes sang a beautiful song that caused the Potions Master's eyes to close and he relaxed a little beside all his dark thoughts concerning the future. This evening had been well enough. He might even consider it…good.

* * *

He'd known! Snape had seen his letters weeks ago. As relieved and happy as Harry was about the accepted apology, there was also this horribly well known feeling of inadequacy he was unable to shake off.

They hadn't been good enough. Well, he'd known that, otherwise he'd have sent them long ago, but to know just how inadequate the chosen words had been was hard to swallow.

'_Words mean nothing, boy! Just do as I say!'_

_No!_ This wasn't Uncle Vernon and although they shared their opinion of Harry, to compare his Potions professor to his uncle would be nothing but a blatant insult on Snape's intellect. It was just that it seemed as if he couldn't ever please either of them and he'd tried so hard…

Furiously, he walked across the dark corridors towards the Common Room.

'_Enough! He accepted your apology. What more do you want? So, stop whining and be grateful!'_ He'd do that. Snape had been rather nice… well, not nice, but decent almost all evening. He'd never mocked him, just once he'd demonstrated anger when he'd smiled at the 'youngest in a century' anecdote.

It would be selfish to expect more. So, he wouldn't. His eyes slipped towards the book and suddenly felt a pang of guilt: The man had lent him a book that would help his studies. He'd received more than he deserved, really. He had no right to be disappointed.

He wasn't.

Almost imperceptible footsteps not too far away got his attention immediately. All musings forgotten and his wand at the ready he retreated back into the shadows of a particularly dark corridor. He wasn't too far away from the Great Hall by now.

Forcing himself to breathe soundlessly he squinted to see who was coming.

It was Professor Moraku. He as always wore his traditional gown made of dark brown colours. His movements seemed relaxed, but his stance was still upright. He walked past the corridor Harry had used to hide in and it took all of the young student's willpower not to exhale in relief.

"Good evening, Mr Potter." The words were spoken evenly, but Harry's heart skipped a beat. Feeling a little foolish he stepped forward.

"Good evening, sir," he replied and had a sudden flashback to the beginning of this evening's Occlumency lesson.

"Curfew is not too far away, Mr Potter, I therefore suggest you go to your Common Room." It was impossible for Harry to tell what was going through the man's head.

He wanted to wish the man a good night, but when he opened his mouth a question came to mind: "How did you know I was there?"

Harry was unable to tell why he trusted their new Defence teacher. He just did. Looking back, even the demonstration in class earlier this morning had come with a clear warning, albeit the others said there hadn't been one. The Boy-who-Lived couldn't get rid of the feeling that if Moraku had the intention of harming him in any way, he'd never see it coming.

The new teacher distracted him by answering his question: "I wouldn't be a very good teacher if I weren't capable of what I'm trying to convey."

Harry could only snort at that: "You wouldn't be the only Defence teacher that did."

"No, by what I heard I've wouldn't be," the shadow of a smile slowly became visible on the Japanese Man's stoic face. Harry returned the smile carefully.

"If you don't mind, I'll accompany you back to your Common Room," it amazed the famous teenager that the words could be interpreted as suggestion, command or question all in one. Therefore judging a verbal reply to be useless he nodded and they simultaneously turned around and started walking towards the Gryffindor Common Room.

At first neither of them said anything, before Harry decided to break the silence:

"How do you like Hogwarts, sir?"

"It seems to be the castle's duty to make every inhabitant feel at home. It won over my heart the very first night." Harry smiled at that and thought back to the first time he'd looked upon the great walls of his very first home.

"Yes, she does do that."

"She?" The amused tone in the adult's voice made him blush a little.

"Well… She's like an ever-watching mother, isn't she?"

"I suppose she is," Moraku seemed rather serious and when his gaze fell upon Harry who – not unlike the times Professor Dumbledore looked at him – was convinced he saw something beyond what could be seen with your eyes.

"I was welcomed rather warmly by _her_ inhabitants as well," he continued, when he seemed to be satisfied with what he'd seen.

"I'm glad about that, sir." The Boy-who-Lived was unsure whether or not he should mention their first lesson together for as interesting it had been, he'd rather not remind the other man of his Patronus Charm.

Almost as if he could read his mind – and Harry was sure he couldn't go past his shields, in fact didn't even try – the new professor added: "My first lessons were very interesting, I've noticed quite a few talents especially among the older students."

"Some of them are pretty good, that's true. Hermione is capable of learning pretty much anything and she's got a flair for logic that is rarely seen. Ron is a brilliant tactician. Blaise is sharp and to the point, not unlike the way he answered your question this morning. Neville can be like a force of nature at times when he sees his friends in danger…"

Before he could say anything more, his new Defence teacher interrupted: "Very true and well spotted, Mr Potter. Tell me, how would you deduct the abilities of Messrs Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and Miss Parkinson?"

"I don't know them as well." But he'd seen Draco Malfoy fight. "Malfoy's smart and cunning, but while he's got quite a way with words to aggravate his opponents, he mostly attacks when provoked and even then only when your back's turned. Nott on the other hand, him I hardly know, but he seems to be the kind of person to fight head-on, however he prefers it when his rival doesn't show up on the battle-field in the first place. Pansy… No idea, I've never seen her fight so far. Crabbe and Goyle, well…" He couldn't very well say that they were Malfoy's servants, therefore he recalled every time they'd met. He was surprised himself by what he realized, "Neither of them have lived up to their potential, I think. They are in… another person's shadow and they intend to remain that way."

Moraku didn't say anything nor did he show any physical reaction that would betray his thoughts on Harry's musings.

"Here we are," the new Defence professor said silently and indeed they stood in front of the Fat Lady, "I wish you a good night, Mr Potter. It was most enjoyable talking to you."

"Good night, Professor," Harry replied with a genuine smile.

The _Reiki_ turned around and walked away silently. Harry himself looked at the Fat Lady, said the required password (_"Puffskein"_) and entered, his head full of tonight's events.

* * *

First of all: **I am very sorry **for not having written for so long. I hope the next part will not take as long... But I doubt it since I'll go back writing as soon as this new chapter is posted.

Second of all: Thank you guys so much! A special apology for all those readers who've been writing reviews since the beginning and a hello to everybody who's just started to read my story (and came this far :-))

Last, but not least: Due to computer issues Nymphadora Potter is no longer able to correct my stories which is why at this point I want to thank her for the work she's done so far. At the same time I welcome MissGoalie75 who was so nice to offer her beta services to me. Thanky you very much, you've done an excellent job!


	16. Finding Common Ground, Part Two

**Chapter 11, part two: Finding Common Ground**

With a strangled cry Harry sat up, only to fall back on the mattress again. Breathing heavily, he attempted to lie still for a moment, but he couldn't control the rapid rising and falling of his chest.

When his breathing was under control he sat up again, only to feel a sudden wave of nausea overcome him. After swallowing multiple times, making sure he wasn't going to vomit, he pressed his face into shaking hands as he tried to think of anything but tonight's events.

Once again, Voldemort decided not to use the Unspeakables, but his desire for them, his impatience to finally use them out in the open seemed to intensify every night. However, he was unwilling to use them before his servants were able to use them as well; he wanted the terror to have its maximum effect. Harry knew that now.

Nevertheless, tonight's events had been horrible, worse than the usual amount of terror the dark wizard spread.

That Auror's daughters had only been three and five years old and they'd… He still felt their fear, the roaring hatred of their father and the pain… Oh, the pain!

"_I will kill you, you bastard! I don't need my wand for this. I will strangle you with my bare hands."_

_A cold, hollow laughter drowned out the sobbing of the older girl, who held her little sister's limb body in her arms. "Let him go, Avery."_

"No," Harry whispered, pressing his hands against his eyeballs, hoping the images would simply disappear.

"Avada Kedavra."

_The middle-aged Auror, who'd advanced on Voldemort, turned around, horror-struck: "Amelia!" He ran towards her…_

"_So very weak," the cold voice whispered maliciously and he lifted his wand, moving it almost imperceptibly. As if slammed into an invisible wall, the trained wizard stumbled back and fell on his knees._

"_Let me to her, you bastard!" Despite his words, despair shone brightly in his eyes, all intention of fighting gone._

"_Say please…"_

"_PLEASE!"_

"_As you wish: _Avada Kedavra!"

"No, no, no," Harry whispered. It was bad enough when adults were murdered, but children made his visions nearly unbearable, especially when they were used to hurt their parents.

He didn't have any children, but he knew what he would feel were his friends used that way. He imaged that being a parent made everything much, much worse.

When his breathing evened out and his hands slowly stopped shaking, he put on his glasses and looked at his watch: _2:05 A.M._

"You've got to be kidding me," Harry muttered tiredly. He'd never be able to sleep again tonight, but he was so exhausted.

He sighed as he stood up, but immediately sat down again when a wave of sorrow, despair and longing washed over him. Realizing they weren't his feelings, he looked around to see whose emotions they were.

A quiet moan was heard and when Harry noticed the absence of snores, he knew. He stood up, waved his wand to counter his Silencing Charm and walked over to Neville's bed.

"Hey, Neville," he whispered, careful to not to wake up his friend unless necessary. "It's okay. Everything is going to be fine."

It didn't help much.

He closed his eyes and focused:

Here they were: sorrow, longing and despair all in one, creating a hole in Neville's heart. It was painful to feel.

What he did next was comparable to what the moon's affect on the oceans: first he _pulled_ back, his shields tightened around his heart – it felt just like waking up on a cold winter's morning covered in a warm blanket – then he _pushed,_ letting his shields _flood_ around his friend, careful to avoid actually _entering _Neville's heart. They were Neville's feelings he had no intention of changing them, but he wanted him to feel better about them.

Neville's distress subsided slowly but steadily. He was still sad, but it didn't hurt as much anymore.

He quietly stood by for a moment until he was sure Neville was sound asleep again. With silent steps he walked back to his bed, not to sleep but to dress and go to the Common Room.

That was when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eyes. He spun around to see Dean sitting on his bed looking as if he'd been awake for quite a while.

Harry gestured towards the door leading to the Common Room, but the other boy shook his head in return. The Boy Who Lived sighed a little and wordlessly asked his classmate to make some space who obligingly moved aside. Harry walked over, casted a nonverbal _Muffilato _Spell over Dean's bed and sat down.

"What are you doing up at this hour?" He spoke quietly despite the Privacy Charm.

That question was understandably met with considerably raised eyebrows.

"What's up with Neville?" Dean asked, ignoring the question.

"Nightmare," Harry replied shortly.

"What did you do?" Dean leaned forward a little, looking curious.

"Just talking to him." He knew he'd spoken just a little bit too fast. He'd always sucked at lying.

"Don't give me that." The sixth year Gryffindor actually looked furious at Harry's answer. "He didn't calm down until _after_ you talked to him. What did you do?"

"Nothing, Dean. Look, I'm tired, why don't you try to go back to bed?"

"You haven't slept through a single night for seven days, Harry!" Dean exclaimed exasperatedly. "You've got nightmares, but since your Silencing Charms are impossible to break – even when you're sound asleep – I can only guess what's going on."

"You've watched me every night?" He didn't really know what to think of that, whether to be angry or worried about the sleep deprivation Dean had to suffer from.

"Seamus and I, we've decided to switch every other night and… Merlin, Harry! We've decided to do it for a week and I'm exhausted. If I weren't wearing glamour, you'd think I were zombie." Dean was angry.

"I didn't ask you…"

"That's not what I'm talking about," Dean replied, almost screaming by now, "I'm talking about you: You're not wearing glamour. What the devil have you done to conceal yourself?"

"How do you…"

"_Manifesta_, the Charm to reveal things, we've put it up at the entrance door." Harry's eyes widened at that confession. They'd spied on him and he hadn't suspected a thing!

"We were worried about you!" Dean definitely screamed that comment and Harry was glad he was sure of the strength of his Silencing Charms.

It felt good to know they cared, but they had no right to invade his privacy.

"You can't keep doing this. You haven't slept soundly in a week or even longer, what do I know. It's not healthy. This will kill you, Harry!"

It took all of the young man's willpower not to speak his mind (_"Do you think I'm enjoying this? I know what this does to me, believe me! I am terrified of closing my eyes every other night and you know what one of the greatest things of coming to Hogwarts was? Being able to sleep! But it was taken from me, just like _everything _I care about is being taken from me!"_) But he knew that wasn't true.

He still had his friends and he was very grateful to have them, but sometimes, when he woke up at night, he just happened to wish to be anybody else but Harry Potter: When the Prophecy and harsh reality of the war crushed him after waking up from a particular bad vision… And yet… He glanced over to Neville. He knew there had been a chance of that sleeping form over there being the Boy Who Lived. He wouldn't wish his dreams on his worst enemies, not to mention one of his closest friends.

Neville's life was hard as well. He still couldn't fathom what it was like to know your parents were still alive but unable to recognize you… Harry deeply respected Neville for being the person he was despite the bad cards life seemed to be so eager to hand him.

"Are you listening to me?" Dean's voice, mixed with worry and anger, shook him out of his musings.

"_Sigillas_."

"What?"

"That spell isn't just able to seal the effect of a Healing Charm, you know."

"Oh," was the only reply. "What do you look like? For real, I mean."

A sad laughter escaped Harry's lips before he could contain it, when he thought of the haggard face he sometimes saw in the mirror when he reapplied and sealed the glamour.

"Tired, very tired," he looked down hoping Dean wouldn't ask anything more.

"Harry, I know Ron and Hermione have been _occupied _a little, but I've heard them talking to each other: They are worried sick about you and they're not sure what's going on. I'm not telling you to share your secrets with me. I mean, we are friends, but not that close… Tell them, please. I hate to see you like this every night."

"I'll think about it," Harry said, knowing he should've told them of the Prophecy before. He was just… He avoided thinking about it as much as possible. But Dean was right: it was time to at least share _some_ of his secrets. It would've been time weeks ago, but the proper moment for his confession simply never seemed to arrive.

"_Yeah, Transfiguration was tough, today. Hermione, you transformed your rope perfectly into that green snake. Oh, speaking of snakes: Voldemort either finishes me off or I'll finish him off. What do you prefer? Having a dead man or murderer as your friend? I'm afraid there's no middle ground."_

He cringed at the mere thought.

"You do that…" Dean spoke a lot more softly than he had earlier when frustration had taken over. "What are you going to do now?"

"Prepare for class, work on my potions project and look through my DA notes one more time."

"I'll join you," Dean smiled encouragingly.

But Harry grew very serious at that. "Go back to sleep, Dean. You'll need it. I'm…used to it."

The discussion went on rather similarly for several minutes until Dean finally gave in and Harry grabbed his stuff to study in the Common Room. It was 2:30 A.M.

* * *

The next day they had Charms. During his first five years at Hogwarts, it hadn't been his favourite class, but he'd never disliked it. These days – ever since he had a better grasp of magical theory, making spell casting a lot easier to understand – he truly treasured the lessons.

They were interesting, especially because Harry always intended to use spells nonverbally and therefore had to link new charms to some emotion. But it wasn't always easy to determine how strong the emotion had to be. Sometimes he might not be able to do them nonverbally on his first try, but some spells – when he spoke them aloud while tying them to some feeling – just happened to be…

"Very good Polishing Charm, Mr Potter! However, please note that it is unnecessary to actually see through wood. It isn't necessary to remove all molecules, just the dirt."

"Sorry, sir."

… a little bit strong. It didn't seem to be a particularly good idea to think of polishing the Dursley's silver and crystal cups under his aunt's sharp eyes.

"Don't be. Excellently done. Try to flick your wand a little bit quicker and it should be just fine," the tiny wizard squeaked. "Why don't you fill the hole and… Oh!" His small hand with long fingers touched the seemingly disappeared wood. "Crystal." That was the first time Harry suspected the man to be flabbergasted. "You have transfigured your wooden table into crystal. Polished crystal…"

A flick of his wand and the desk was in his original condition. "Try again, Mr Potter," he seemed rather composed. "Think of flicking your wand quickly like moving a whip, sharp movement. Miss Granger, well done! Five points to Gryffindor. Mr Thomas, what are you doing? You've had your head elsewhere all morning! Continue moving your wand so jerkily and instead of polishing your desk, you will let it explode."

Harry suppressed a wince. What he had suspected this morning at breakfast was now confirmed: Dean hadn't been able to sleep for the rest of night.

Seamus and Dean hadn't apologized to him for invading his privacy, but they'd both looked rather guilty the next morning. He'd smiled at them both, silently forgiving them. It was nice to know how much they cared, actually. He wasn't sure he deserved that, though.

Shaking off the dark thoughts, he focused back on his desk. As Flitwick had instructed him, he moved his wand more sharply, quicker, but tried hard not to enlarge the amount of space he used for the movement. This time – instead of thinking of the Dursleys – he looked for another memory where he had been asked to polish wood and was suddenly reminded of the one house he owned, but was determined never to enter again: Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. He remembered how cleaning the house had been a constant battle. Despite the moments when cleaning had been disgusting and exhausting and when his constant frustration with his forced ignorance of what was going on had taken over, he'd never had as much fun cleaning at Grimmauld Place, surrounded by friends and _family_, than anywhere else. Thankfully, when sorrow and guilt overwhelmed him, he'd already lowered his wand, looking at a perfectly polished desk.

He didn't notice that he hadn't spoken the incantation. He was too busy blinking just a little bit too fast trying to shake off the pain.

* * *

Somebody noticed, though.

And he was glad that nobody else seemed to, not even the would-be spy coming from his House.

Blaise Zabini didn't know how, but he'd come to respect and – much more impressive for he was after all a Gryffindor – even like Harry Potter.

He couldn't figure him out, though, which was unusual for him since figuring people out was his greatest ability. However, Harry Potter puzzled him.

He was remarkably powerful, but seemed completely unaware of it. Yet, he was capable of conveying his knowledge and experiences with such ease that some of Hogwarts' teachers would turn green with envy, would they be aware of it. He had to have seen some ugly things – Cedric Diggory's death, the return of The One He Would Never Name, but even before that had happened: nobody passed out from a single Dementor at the age of thirteen unless horrible things had been seen. Nevertheless, his heart was as open as it possibly could be.

He had invited Millie to their DA meeting, which had caused Blaise to cut him some slack, especially when it hadn't turned out to be some sort of cruel joke.

Yes, he hadn't trusted the Gryffindor's offer and very clearly remembered the discussion he'd had with his best friend following the events of a fateful meeting outside this very classroom some weeks ago:

"_Blaise!"_

_He turned around and smiled. That was Millie's 'You won't believe what I'm going to tell you, but don't worry it's a good thing, although it confuses me a little' voice. People didn't believe him when he said he could defer his best friend's words so accurately, but he could. He'd always been able to. _

"_What's the news?" he inquired, his smile still evident. For some reason, people said he didn't smile much. That wasn't true. He simply gave it judiciously making it more valuable when he gave it._

"_You won't believe what I'm going to tell you, but don't w…" She laughed, when she saw his facial expression, "Never mind. Let's go somewhere private."_

_For the first time in a long while Millie managed to actually surprise him. Whatever had happened, it was important. Without waiting for his response, the sixteen-year-old girl who surpassed his height by half a foot turned around and walked further into the maze that were the dungeons. _

_Left, right, right, left and right again… He remembered his first day at Hogwarts when their Head of House had entered the Common Room and relayed that speech to the Hatchlings, telling them of their duty to their House and that, should they dare to taint the honour of the most noble of Hogwarts' Houses, they would be punished severely. He had been true to his word and his ability to virtually dissect people by merely using words wasn't limited to the Gryffindor House. However, he cared about his Snakes and he never lied._

_It was what he didn't say that worried the sixteen-year-old. _

_Anyway, apart from that speech Professor Snape held every year, he also handed out a very useful map that contained the structure of the dungeons. After a week the map stopped showing what it was supposed to and nothing but a blank piece of parchment remained. It was also impossible to make copies of it. For most, one week was enough to know the most important corridors, but for those like him, who were gifted with a photographical memory, it was enough to learn the map by heart. _

_One of the few living beings currently living in this castle who knew these corridors better than he did was his Head of House. _

_While he was walking behind Millie – who led them towards a small room they'd discovered at the end of their first month at Hogwarts – his thoughts drifted towards the man he was wary of, however couldn't help but respect: Professor Snape. He treated all of his Slytherins equally and cared for their health as much as for their good education. He wasn't the first person Slytherin students approached_ ('Should there be any personal matters bothering you, please go see the Prefects first, unless you have a very good reason.')_, he was most definitely the first teacher and adult that was asked for advice. _

_With good reason._

_When the One Whose Name Was Not Spoken had come back, however… _

_Nobody was actually able to name what changed, but those whose families opposed to _him_ – not unlike Blaise' family – had stopped seeking Professor Snape's advice almost one and a half year ago. _

_It wasn't as if there was any proof for the man's loyalty towards the monster, but it was apparent how much closer he'd gotten to those who were deeply into the insanity that was the supposed superiority of Purebloods. _

_Nobody in the Common Room was stupid enough to declare their loyalties aloud – they _were _Slytherins after all – but there were some whose opinion you couldn't doubt._

_Professor Snape's opinion was impossible to deduct. Apart from the fact no one dared to speak the despicable word _'Mudblood_' in his presence – for the older ones still remembered how Flint had been taken apart by their Head of House when gossip had been floating around concerning the infamous Chamber of Secrets – he remained carefully neutral to either side._

_Blaise wasn't ready to take chances for his family's sake. He wouldn't go to their Head of House should any problems arise and he wasn't the only one. _

_Those who were closer to seventeen than eleven – namely Fourth Years and above – were very hesitant about going to Professor Snape, no matter what side they'd decided to be on. However, the Potions Master still fulfilled his duty as Carer of the Slytherin House. But the Prefects and – in case you didn't want to go to Draco with your problems – older students in general were a lot more important for the well-being of the Hatchlings than they had been before. _

_Blaise sometimes wondered if the hooked-nosed man missed the regular contact with his students as much as they did. For some reason, he was sure of it._

_He was snapped out of his musings when Millie shook his shoulder softly._

"_Sorry, what were you saying?" He hadn't even realized they were standing in front of the entrance to the small storage room, which had become their sanctuary – not unlike their tree house when they had been little – although it was a little cramped these days._

_His best friend opened the door and they entered. It was large enough for them both to have some space for themselves, but apart from Millie he wouldn't want any person as near him in a closed room. _

"_Harry Potter invited me to their Defence Club meeting," she said, smiling happily and all Blaise could do at this point was forcing himself to breathe. _

_Potter? He admittedly didn't know him well, but he was known to constantly seek attention…although it wasn't his fault he was tricked into the Triwizard Tournament and he definitely hadn't introduced himself as Slytherin's heir and… Well, maybe it wasn't that bad. But everybody knew the guy was arrogant and self-righteous, a reckless Gryffindor. _

_However, Millie seemed excited! That wasn't good. Guys like Potter would only disappoint her. What if it was a cruel joke, aimed at one of those _evil, stinky_ Slytherins, as they were called, mainly by Gryffindors?_

"_Mill," Blaise started worriedly. This wouldn't end well. He just knew it._

"_No, before you say anything. I was talking to Neville… You remember, that shy, quiet boy who's always very helpful towards young students, including the Hatchlings? He likes and trusts him. That counts for something, don't you think?"_

"_Not according to our Head of House, it doesn't." Everybody – even those who didn't have Potions class along with the accident-prone boy – knew of Professor Snape's disdain for the kid._

"_Blaise, come on! They're Gryffindors. That's enough a reason for him to dislike them."_

"_Yeah, and Gryffindors are so open-minded creatures in return, Mill," he replied sarcastically. _

"_That's so not the point! Besides, Harry also implied that the prejudices between the Houses are ridiculous."_

_So, he was Harry now? What in the name of Sprenger and Institorus had the guy said to his best friend? Should Hogwarts' Golden Boy hurt her, he'd personally string him up to the Whomping Willow, Boy Who Lived or not._

"_And he just happened to invite you to some secret Defence Club meeting." That was dubious at best. The bloke had formed his opinion concerning Blaise's and Millie's House long ago. Why would it change now?_

"_He doesn't believe I follow the One We Don't Name."_

"_I hope you thanked him for that questionable compliment. He truly seems to be an amazing person." His biting sarcasm took his best friend a little aback, he could see that much. He mentally brazed himself for an argument with the girl that was like a sister to him._

"_Coming from Mr 'Eloise Midgen looks like Swiss Cheese reversed'," she retorted sharply and Blaise' irritation turned into a mixture of anger and shame. He had apologized for that, to Eloise herself who hadn't even been in the room when he'd said that, to Millicent for she'd refused to talk to him after making that comment. It had been an ill-judged comment of a fourteen-year-old boy who had the hunger for being remembered, to make himself a name among the older students._

"_Mill…" She heard the pain in his voice and her gaze softened considerably. _

"_Let's just give him a chance. He said I could bring someone along. And if it's a joke, we'll show him that it's not a good idea to meddle with Slytherins."_

It hadn't been necessary to show Harry such a thing.

The DA meeting had been surprisingly impressive and although they hadn't been welcomed warmly, there hadn't been any biting words towards their House. What still astonished him was how simple it had been for the so-called Boy Who Lived to split them apart and assign them to new partners.

At first, he'd hated the idea, but then he'd seen how comfortable Mill was around Neville and then there was Luna.

He hadn't ever met a person quite like her. She had the ability to be frighteningly sharp-minded and straightforward, but to be painfully vulnerable at the same time. Apart from Millie, he'd never felt as protective towards anybody in his life, not even the Hatchlings.

"Mr Zabini, let's see your Polishing Charm," Professor Flitwick squeaked behind him and shook Blaise out of his musings.

* * *

When the bell rang, Harry quickly gathered his notes and packed them into his bag while he slipped his wand into his wand-holder.

He was almost at the door when Professor Flitwick told him to remain after class. Wondering what this could possibly be about, he nodded and told Ron to head for the Common Room while he wished Hermione a nice lesson in Runes.

When everybody else had left the room, the tiny professor flicked his wand in order to close the door. Harry had been dealing a lot more with his Charms professor this year, but they couldn't be called particularly close, therefore he was a little nervous about what this could be about.

"I must congratulate you to your fabulous idea of creating a Defence Club that is designed for younger students," the professor said with a smile, which Harry responded with: "I don't deserve your praise, Professor Flitwick. Dennis Creevey had the original idea, actually. I simply talked to Professor McGonagall about it."

"Oh, I know that, Mr Potter and I've congratulated Mr Creevey for this excellent idea, however, ideas generally only had merit when properly pursued and that was your doing," he sounded amused.

It was pretty remarkable how differently the tiny wizard treated him these days, ever since Harry had presented his theory of nonverbal magic. The Boy Who Lived had always been under the impression that Professor Flitwick, Head of Ravenclaw, treated all of his students equally. These days, he noticed how much Professor Flitwick cherished those with original ideas or those with talent. He didn't treat them favourably in class, but he gave them much more thought outside regular class.

"I was asking you to remain for another reason, though. One of my Fourth Years, Helena Clearwater, she struggles immensely with the Summoning Charm, not unlike you two years ago. I've just wanted to ask how you could become so proficient at the spell." For the first time in a while, Harry laughed light-heartedly and he answered when he saw his teacher's puzzlement.

"That won't help her unless you have a dragon at your disposal," he smiled, but it was wiped from his face when he realized what he'd just admitted to his teacher.

"The Triwizard Tournament?" Realization dawned, "I thought the all four of you were remarkably composed in the face of a dragon, no matter the short minutes you had to wait in the tent until you were called." He frowned a little, and then said slowly, "The headmasters of the other schools would have told their champions, no doubt about that… How did you and Mr Diggory find out?"

The sudden mention of Cedric was like being punched in the face, but Harry's remained stoically impassive.

"I kind of saw the dragons by coincidence and later told Cedric about them." He had been so jealous of Cedric later, after the Yule Ball. It seemed so petty now, so meaningless.

Professor Flitwick nodded approvingly and then was thoughtful again. "So, you had the pressure of mastering the Summoning Charm in a limited amount of time, otherwise…"

"…I would have ended up as dragon-food."

The tiny wizard mentioned Harry to sit down and smiled kindly. "You do not really believe that any teacher at this school would have let a dragon harm you, Mr Potter? Apart from…"

"Defence teachers in general, safe for Professor Lupin unless it's full moon, the real Professor Moody and maybe Professor Moraku?" Harry finished cockily, however it felt oddly good to know that his teachers' wand had been at the ready when it had been his turn to face the dragons.

"Maybe Professor Aikokyushin?" The tiny wizard asked, a little surprised.

"They usually don't try anything before the end of the school year, sir," Harry smiled, thereby indicating that he didn't think of the Japanese wizard to be an actual threat.

"Back to Miss Clearwater…" Professor Flitwick began.

Harry immediately grew serious. "What senses does she respond to?"

The older wizard paused a moment to think before he answered, "She has the remarkable talent of remembering any voice, she can even mimic them effortlessly."

She responded mainly to her hearing sense. That made everything much easier.

"Does she fly?"

"I don't think it would be wise to answer such a question to a member of the rivalling House Teams," he replied amusedly, fully aware he had just answered the question affirmatively.

"Tell her to think of the sound of a broom rushing through the air, it mimics the sound of summoned object rather well. Also, instead of having her focus on her wand – there is no wand movement needed for the spell – have her repeat the incantation. All else should follow automatically."

"That is how you learnt the spell?"

"No, but panic and fear are good teachers, too." To make his point, he nonverbally lifted his wand, focused – thinking back to the First Task – and a heavy book from the professor's desk flew right into his hand. He didn't even have to look at it. He had noticed _The Charming World of Charms Work_ when he'd entered the class this morning. "But it's not particularly fun to learn out of fear."

Professor Flitwick nodded thoughtfully, looking at him very closely.

"Thank you very much for your help, Mr Potter. I will try this new approach in my next class with Miss Clearwater. Is there anything you would like to talk to me about?"

Harry shook his head.

Professor Flitwick was a nice man, a good teacher, but albeit there were many things Harry knew he _had_ to talk about; the tiny wizard before him wasn't the man he would tell them to.

Wishing each other a nice day, Harry left the classroom.

He would tell them today, right after the DA meeting.

He'd decided it was the only sensible thing to do. He would tell Ron and Hermione of the Prophecy.

* * *

I received thirteen reviews for my last chapter: THANK YOU so much. I feel flattered.

Well, this is the second part of this chapter. I'm not quite sure if I'll break it down to four parts or only three. If it's three parts in the end, it'll take a little longer for me to update. We'll see!

I hope you liked the little insight in Blaise' mind and the new update in general.

Please, read and review!


	17. Finding Common Ground, Part Three

**Chapter 11, part three (of four): Finding Common Ground**

_Previously: He'd decided it was the only sensible thing to do. He would tell Ron and Hermione of the Prophecy._

It's the strangest thing: you can't wait for an event to take place and time just seems to stand still; minutes suddenly become hours, but if you want to avoid a moment in foreseeable future time just flies by.

As it was, the morning ended before Harry could protest. He couldn't have possibly had double Transfiguration in the afternoon because he could swear that he only sat down when Professor McGonagall dismissed them.

And now DA was over before it had begun.

"That's it for today, people," Harry said. They'd been practising Healing Charms the entire evening and since that was much more exhausting than hours of duelling, Harry ended the lesson an hour earlier than usual.

"You've done a great job. Madame Pomfrey, thank you very much for supervising the lessons tonight. Without you it would've been havoc."

The mediwitch had indeed been a great help. She'd shown them many things about wound care, magical and non-magical. It was impressive how much she knew about field medicine when you didn't have a Potions Master who could brew practically anything at your disposal.

The witch had been stern, not unlike the way she was in the hospital wing, and she expected nothing less but their full concentration and beyond; it was necessary for should they ever be forced to apply the knowledge they'd acquired today. Anything but perfection would risk the patient's health.

The DA gave Madame Pomfrey a heart-felt applause; she remained rather impassive at the gesture. Instead, she gazed at them seriously: "You will need to work on those spells constantly. In a month I will supervise this class again and you better have lost nothing of the discipline I saw tonight." That almost sounded like a compliment and Harry smiled at her. She looked back sharply, but her eyes softened considerably when they met Harry's, making him wonder if the woman actually had a tender spot for him.

His classmates started to leave, wishing each other good night until only Ron and Hermione remained as he'd asked them to at dinner.

As soon as the door closed quietly behind Blaise Zabini, Harry closed his eyes and focused on what he wanted.

A moment later, the wooden door was replaced by one made of iron. The inner structure of the room resembled the Common Room, although it lacked the fireplace. Instead, torches hung on the walls to provide light.

Nobody would be able to enter this room without permission, but to be absolutely sure they weren't overheard, he silently casted a _Muffilato_ Charm.

Hermione and Ron both had looked worried before, now they seemed terrified of what Harry intended to say.

"Sit down, guys," Harry said softly. His heart was pounding in his chest. What would they do? What would they say?

They did as he asked them to and he followed their lead. He kept his distance a little, although he wanted nothing more than sit right beside them, laughing about one of Ron's jokes.

Fortunately, they didn't pressure him and he could therefore take his time to recollect his thoughts and feelings.

"I haven't been seeing either of you reading the paper lately, but I'm quite sure you've been following the news as thoroughly as I did." Who hadn't, really? Thankfully, Voldemort so far hadn't committed crimes which had claimed the life of a friend's close relative, but they'd all seen Lisa Turpin, a Sixth Year Ravenclaw, storm out of the Great Hall a few weeks ago when the news of her uncle's death had reached her. There was also Marcus Phillas' (a Fifth Year Hufflepuff) breakdown in Divination minutes after he'd received news of his mother's death. Harry cringed at the mere thought for he could only imagine Professor Trelawney's reaction to such a display.

Harry had witnessed both murders. He simply hadn't known who they were.

They'd both been scared but brave.

Ron and Hermione caught his attention when Hermione answered softly that they had been reading the _Daily Prophet_.

"I'm sure you've noticed all that talk about the Chosen One, too, but figured it would be better not to mention the subject around me. I'm glad you didn't," he added hastily when he saw Hermione's eyes widen in guilt.

"It's just…" He sighed. _Be quick about it, like ripping off a band-aid._ "They're right. The Prophecy is about me and Voldemort." Ron flinched.

"It says…

'_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… _

_Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… _

_and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have the power the Dark Lord knows not… _

_and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…'_"

Merlin, speaking it aloud sounded so much more like a death sentence than when he kept repeating it in his mind.

Both looked at him, shell-shocked. Ron gripped the arm of the couch so tightly, his knuckles turned white. Hermione pressed her hands against her mouth as if holding back a scream.

Harry forgot to breathe. This was it. They would never look at him the same again. He might have just lost his best friends. The mere thought caused him pain so much more penetrating and cruel than what Voldemort could cause with his wand. He felt his chest tighten, wild panic engulfed him and he stood up with a start…

He wanted to run, away from it all. He wanted to tell them it was just a joke. He wanted…

Hermione rose from the couch, crossed the short distance quicker than Harry could have with his Firebolt and embraced him.

"Oh Harry…" she whispered. Tears fell from her face wetting Harry's shoulder – or rather the cloak that covered it.

Her fear, guilt and ever-lingering hope overwhelmed him and he felt his eyes moisten. He stoically blinked the tears away and just held her a little tighter.

…Just to make sure she was there still breathing while making her realize that he was still alive as well. He was a little puzzled why she should feel responsible, though.

When he slowly released her from his embrace, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned slightly to his right and looked up into his best friend's face. Ron's expression was unusually solemn and seemingly emotionless. But he didn't fool Harry.

Fear – more prominent than Hermione's – ruled his heart, but the same hope he'd seen earlier was there too.

"You knew since last summer, didn't you?" It wasn't a question. Ron's face remained impassive.

The sixteen year old wizard with unruly hair and emerald green eyes nodded. He should have told them earlier, he knew that.

However, he'd been a little preoccupied in the summer, which was ridiculous, really: The Prophecy should have been his biggest worry, the one thing to consume him, to never let him relax. Yet it had been an injured, substitute Chaser in this big, frightening Quidditch game he'd been playing since July: you don't think of him, mainly because your eyes are focused on the pitch, until something happens – a Bludger nearly hitting your best Chaser – and you suddenly have to reassess your whole strategy. The substitute you hadn't thought about earlier becomes your priority; you don't want to think about him because he's unable to play and yet you hope for the impossible thing: that he would recover fast enough to fly.

'_Metaphors aren't your strength, Harry.' _For once, the snarky voice sounded almost kind.

"You…" Ron started only to succumb to silence again. "You could've told us, you know. We wouldn't have told anyone." It didn't sound like a reproach, not really. Nevertheless, Ron's tone displayed that Harry's unwillingness to open up to them deeply hurt him.

Guilt, a feeling as familiar to him these days as breathing, threatened to drown the Boy Who Lived.

"No…" he ultimately forced out when he could no longer bare his best friend's pain.

"I know that, Ron! Merlin, be my witness! I know. I am sorry. I should've told you, it's just…" How could he possibly make them understand without mentioning the dreams? He'd never even considered telling them about those, but now that he saw how frightened they were by the Prophecy, he just knew he wouldn't talk of his connection – or change thereof – to Voldemort. Talking to them about this or Sirius would break him and he didn't know whether they had the strength to pick up the pieces.

All of a sudden, he noticed how his thoughts started to drift and in order to regain composure he inhaled and exhaled air twice and let the comfort of his very personal shields rush over him.

"It's not a topic, you can bring to paper, even if it had been safe to send them to you," Harry started to explain, "so there was no chance to inform you when school was out and later, we were at school again and it's not a particular topic that slips easily off the tongue between Transfiguration and Herbology."

"And our getting together surely didn't help," Hermione added with a somewhat pained smile. That's why she felt guilty! She shouldn't; it was okay.

"You two getting together is one of the few good things that happened to me these past few months," he said firmly. He had been afraid to lose their friendship, yes. But it was good to see them together (and a whole lot more compassionate on his nerves). The young witch with the bushy hair didn't look entirely convinced, which made him realize he had to add something.

He would tell the truth.

"I was afraid you wouldn't look at me the same again, I didn't want to make your lives more complicated." He couldn't meet their eyes when he voiced his fears. Once again he was embraced by a bone-crushing hug of his female best friend (a girl of Hermione's height shouldn't possess such strength).

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said and for once he had no clue what she felt. She took a step back and looked him straight into his eyes.

"You are Harry, my best friend and the only person I come close to call brother. You are smart, brave and funny and when you blush the way you do right now, you are simply the most adorable guy I've ever met in my life. That is what's important! The fact that Voldemort – oh, Ron! – made you his target is not your fault and doesn't change one bit who you are to me or Ron. The Prophecy scares me, I admit, but you know what it means? You have a chance Harry, by the way I interpret this prediction you have a very good chance to live."

_And therefore, to kill._

When Harry held her a little closer he was grateful for her support, much more than he'd ever be able to voice, but to imagine committing murder, taking a life… He couldn't wrap his mind around it, no matter whose life it was.

"Exactly," Ron added and grabbed his shoulder, holding it a bit tighter than usual as if convincing himself he was still there. "I mean…you're youngest Seeker in a century, mate! There is nothing you can't do."

The last living member of the Potters couldn't help it: he laughed; not a short chuckle or a genuine smile, but a loud, almost childlike laugh.

When he finally recovered, he saw them both smile at him.

"What?" he asked. His voice was rough, having not used it in such a way for what seemed an eternity.

"Nothing, Harry," Hermione smiled, "Everything is perfect." Then she looked up the way she did when an idea had come to mind.

"Hey, you have control over this room's décor, don't you?"

Harry nodded, a little puzzled.

"We've got one hour until curfew," Hermione explained. "Make it a field."

He did.

For the next hour, they sat under a tree in a beautiful field with many flowers, talking, laughing, and enjoying life.

The following night included dreams as usual, but for once Harry felt rather awake the next day when they left the Common Room for breakfast.

* * *

Thursday mornings were the times when Harry had no class at all. Usually he spent them focusing on his Potions project, but this time he spent it by updating his DA notes.

He remembered his dread when Snape had presented them the idea of individually pursuing a research topic. There was no way that the Potions Master would ever accept any subject he proposed and there was no way he could actually do such a thing. He'd nearly considered dropping the subject at that point, in fact. This class was for people who were much smarter than him.

Fortunately, he hadn't been the only person thinking so. As soon as they'd left the dungeons, Terry had looked at Hermione and him remarking drily, "Do you remember how he used to call us dunderheads in our first lesson? This is the first time I actually felt like one and he was being rather friendly."

That was true: Snape truly seemed to…well, enjoy would take it a little far… favour his NEWT class as long as there was no Potter, of course.

Katie Bell's best friend Michelle was in Seventh Year NEWT Potions and she had told them the day before how Snape always carefully researched each of his older students' projects.

Last year, he'd invited various members from several important institutes who regularly had to work with potions, and even the personal Potions Master of St Mungo's (who was apparently a very influential brewer in said community) to attend to his students' presentations. Michelle's project had received so much credit that she earned an Apprenticeship in one of the few establishments that offered the education to become a Potions Master.

_Two years_… Thinking back on what Michelle had told him and Snape had said on Tuesday, it was even more astounding what his professor had managed to do. The _Mastership's Education of Potions Making_ was known to be merciless… He'd asked Katie's friend yesterday.

According to her it would most likely take her ten or even fifteen years of constant studying to receive her Mastery. Snape hadn't lied by saying it could be done within eight years, but 'That's reserved for _really_ intelligent people'. Harry had refrained from pointing out that their Potions professor's education had lasted for merely two years, mainly because he wasn't sure whether it was private information or not. He'd merely inquired what it took to receive Mastership and later chipped in that he'd been told it only took eight years to complete the education.

He'd always known the man was perceptive and smart. However, he seemed to have underestimated just how bright the gloomy wizard was.

It was no surprise that the man had no patience for younger, less adept students! He'd probably been a prodigy in brewing potions and was simply unable to grasp that some people might not be able to memorize a recipe within minutes or to know which way ginger root had to be sliced to receive its desired effect.

Currently, Harry was reading _Praesidium liquidus_, the book Snape had lent him. Next to him was a Muggle Latin dictionary.

He'd never had Latin in class and when he'd started in Hogwarts he'd looked up some words, but never actually bothered to learn the language, despite the fact most spells had their origin in it.

For the first time in nearly six years he thought Hogwarts should offer classes like this. It would be beneficial for the students, especially Muggleborns.

He would mention his idea to Dumbledore when they next met.

So far, he'd only written notes every other day containing the most important information concerning his dreams and sent them to the headmaster through Hedwig. He avoided seeing the man, not because he didn't trust him, but because he didn't trust himself not lose it should he be forced to talk about what he saw so frequently.

Gathering his wildly spread thoughts, he picked up his quill and started to write: _The use of carbon to create various wards has been known for centuries. Ancient Egyptian wizards were aware of its value as a form of protection and used to write papyrus messages with coal and by casting Secrecy Spells upon it; they were able to send secret information without worrying of it falling into Enemies' hands. _

_Carbo medicinalis has found its use in Muggle medicine in case of intoxication. Its surface being much larger than common coal enables it to absorb toxins of all kind __dust as manifestation? __**Pursue thought.**_

_Drawing Algiz (Rune for "Protection") with coal multiplies the protective effect on rooms, houses and people._

He reread his notes tracing the lines with his right hand while he picked up _Potions and Chemistry _to concur that the interaction between carbonate and aconite was purely magical.

He'd never have thought that potions could be so fascinating. The books Snape had recommended him were demanding, but very interesting and he'd actually read the entire content of _Potions and Chemistry._

The rest of the morning he spent reading and taking notes of _Praesidium liquidus,_ which was quite demanding since direct translation simply wasn't accepted. Whenever he wrote something down in a literal sense, the ink disappeared which had caused him to simply write down solitary words and to memorize what those words meant.

It was exhausting, but worth it.

At lunch, Quidditch came up as main subject matter. They had their first game this Saturday and Ron was nervous, which was understandable since he was the new captain after all. But despite the fact that Harry sometimes missed the twins and Angelina and – although he had been tiring sometimes – Wood, he was convinced his best friend had put a great team together.

The Creevey brothers were overzealous but they were rather quick flyers and the Chasers were excellent: Katie brought years of experience into the game while Ron's little sister's innovative ways neatly fit with Natalie's velocity.

Ron was still having troubles with his nerves sometimes, but ever since he was announced Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team he'd gained confidence.

To Harry, flying was the only thing that made him forget about everything else: it was just he, his broom and the Snitch. When he was up in the air, he was free.

No Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. No Voldemort. No dreams. No pain. No curses so dark, not even Dumbledore knew about them. No Prophecy. No worrying about what would happen the next day. No guilt.

"Hufflepuff stands no chance against us," Seamus proclaimed, "Right, Harry?"

That got Harry's attention and he merely smiled. "As long as you don't say it in a DA lesson, Seamus." It wasn't a simple joke, there was a clear warning implied in his statement.

Zacharias Smith was the only player of Hufflepuff''s Quidditch Team who was at the also part of the DA, but he was also the one member whose life seemed to depend on his conflict with Harry. No week passed by without a scathing comment and most had given up on chastising the Badger, mainly because the Boy Who Lived always ended up telling them it was okay while the insult was ignored.

Before Harry could dwell on it further, Hermione interrupted the sports discussion by asking him whether he'd finished Snape's homework.

Once again, it was laid out individually: the entire class had to research the general topic "Ergotamin," which was a toxin cultivated by some sort of fungus ((fungi is plural ~_^)). Each of them was supposed to pursue a question that was somehow related to the topic.

Last lesson the questions were formulated and handed out in class. Harry had received the question _'Is there interaction between Ergotamin and rape-seed? Should there be one, is it significant if both are used in the same potion?' _which had been a little frustrating since Ergotamin wasn't some plant you could look up and _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, _whichonly said that it was a fungal toxin capable of opening up blood vessels while rape-seed contained lots of nitrate. It had taken him an hour to find the necessary information to connect both ingredients in _Potions and Chemistry_: nitrate somehow constricted the blood vessels, thus explaining a counteractive effect of Ergotamin and rape-seed.

Without Hermione he wouldn't have been able to find out in what potions either ingredient was used, not to mention both of them.

"It was very interesting to look up such a rarely used ingredient," Harry's best friend started to chat and was going on about the history of Ergotamin. He had no clue how she possibly could've received half of the knowledge she had and was once more impressed by Hermione's intellect.

He'd barely taken his last bite when he was already urged towards the dungeons. She was so adamant; he had no other choice but to oblige. However, he felt a little reluctant not because of the reasons Ron thought (_'Come on, 'Mione! Harry's got to go to the greasy git often enough. Do you honestly believe he has nothing better to do than showing up early in class?'_).

He was nervous.

Their last encounter had been their friendliest meeting ever. Snape had even accepted his apology. The man surely disliked him, most likely actually hated him, but at least they were capable of holding a civil conversation without first being forced to have their wands confiscated. Snape had also called him Mr Potter the entire evening…

Nevertheless, Harry wasn't stupid. He knew the spy couldn't lower his defences, especially not in a classroom with so many children whose parents had commanded them to relay important information. It was only logical that the Potions Master would taunt him mercilessly, which was why he dreaded the upcoming class.

* * *

His assumptions had been correct.

_Mercilessly_ didn't quite cut it, though. Torture was more like it. As soon as they'd entered the classroom, Snape started with the mockery:

Harry's cauldron was cleaned inadequately… His handwriting was sloppy… His intelligence left to be desired…

It only got worse as soon as the homework was handed in.

Snape tore his paper apart in class while they prepared the ingredients for a rather complicated potion containing the fungi, which produced Ergotamin.

Harry's face flushed bright red when his teacher pointed out the inconsistencies concerning his thoughts on why exactly rape-seed and Ergotamin shouldn't be used within the same potion while giving the class three examples when it was actually done.

He couldn't bring himself to look into the hooked-nosed man's face, though. It was too embarrassing.

At the same time, hot anger cursed through him.

It wasn't fair. Snape had hated to be bullied, he hated to be bullied, so why was the Potions Master so adamant on humiliating him? He had forgiven him, had he not?

He was glad when the bell finally rang and left as soon as possible.

* * *

_Keeping up appearances, indeed._

Severus Snape stood in the cover of darkness watching the Gryffindor Quidditch Team's training. Minerva had warned him how good this year's team was, but it was another matter to witness that for yourself. Despite the war unleashing its destructive powers over their world, the two Heads of their respective Houses still enjoyed their banter concerning Quidditch.

The students didn't know they were being watched during their flying practice these days. It was merely a matter of security and they hadn't been informed of it.

Usually, each Head watched their personal Houses, but today Minerva had been otherwise occupied – something about a Fifth Year accidently turning his rival into a worm – and he'd been asked to fill in.

He had complied for once without complaining too much, mainly because he had to think. Watching Potter didn't help his state of mind, though.

'_You manage to work effectively and calmly when life crumbles and thus you are most wanted in moments of grave danger. But, my boy, you have the unfortunate tendency to lash out when anxiety overcomes you.'_

As always – or at least, more often than not – the headmaster had been correct in his assumptions.

He had been nervous about their next meeting.

Mainly, he had been worried that Potter would take on some sort of familiarity after Tuesday.

The boy was known to carry his heart on his sleeve: he was a reckless Gryffindor and would never have the necessary cunning to pull off an act like this.

So, he had lashed out. Much harsher than he originally intended.

Occasionally, there had been a flash of anger visible on the young wizard's face. Otherwise he had stoically taken in every insult he'd hurled at him.

He wondered if the boy understood his motives.

'_What do you care? It's just Potter after all_,' he admonished himself. The problem was that this simply wasn't true. Whoever he had thought the child to be, he had been proved so profoundly wrong it was ridiculous.

And that was why he cared. He shouldn't have done it. Nevertheless, he had done it for safety's sake.

'_Oh sure. Admit it: You did it because you're scared. Not of torture or death, but of how close you're going to let him. He sneaks under your skin and you can't stop him. That's why you want him to stop.' _Oh, how much he hated that voice of reason. It sounded dangerously like the headmaster.

Forcing himself to stop dwelling on it his eyes were back fixed on the Quidditch pitch once more.

The new team of Chasers was excellent. The girls were enthusiastic and strong; Miss Bell brought the necessary calm and experience into their game while Miss Weasley was impulsive, her actions impossible to foresee. Miss McDonald was young and new, but seemed to have found her place in the Quidditch team.

The Creevey brothers had potential and although they weren't living up to it, they would be very hard to overcome. So was Weasley. The youngest of the Weasley brothers had finally found the confidence needed to be an excellent Keeper. Snape briefly wondered whether he could keep that up on their first game. If he did, there was a true challenge waiting for the Chasers of the rival teams.

And then, there was Gryffindor's Seeker.

Snape remembered how much he'd hated it when Minerva had told him the news. He'd been furious.

James Potter first, later his son!

Snape didn't deem Quidditch to be as abhorrent as one could expect, albeit he'd never understood that obsession most members of Europe's magical community had with that game. He just didn't understand the social status some players received.

Like Potter.

Best Gryffindor Chaser for decades, substitute Seeker (and when he had been chasing the Snitch instead of the Quaffle, he'd always caught it first)…

Disgusting.

Snape was a fair flyer, but he disliked it immensely and preferred to Apparate or to use the Floo Network instead.

Then Harry Potter had come to Hogwarts and it felt like someone had turned back time.

Maybe it was because when he was so far away, but he looked so remarkably like James.

It hadn't mattered, though. It had proved his theory of Potter being just as attention seeking and arrogant as his father.

"_I mean, youngest Hogwarts Seeker in a century is nothing compared to youngest Potions Master, but it has a nice ring to it…"_

Those innocently spoken words had revealed volumes of the person who'd uttered them: modesty, silent pride, passion.

When you watched that kid fly, you could feel the boy's passion for the game, his complete faith into his own skills not to fall off the broom.

He wondered if Harry's friends and caretakers such as Minerva had this urge to smile when they were watching the boy becoming a master of the air.

The moment he thought this, Gryffindor's Seeker let his body fall and almost vertically rushed towards solid ground.

Snape's heart skipped a beat, his wand was at the ready, when – inches above ground – Harry almost imperceptibly changed position and the broom stabilized.

"Got it!" the boy exclaimed, the fluttery Training-Snitch safely in his right hand. At that, Weasley ended the training, sounding all cool and relaxed, congratulating them to their successful practice. However, Snape had seen the boy's expression shortly after his best friend had caught the Snitch:

He hadn't been the only one struggling between strangling the kid and tying him to solid ground.

Before he silently walked back to the castle, he wondered briefly why next to the two urges mentioned above he'd had a third: embrace the child and not release him until he promised not to do such a thing ever again.

_Keeping up appearances, indeed._

* * *

Harry couldn't remember the last time they'd all been so early to their second lesson with a teacher. Gryffindors and Slytherins alike arrived at the classroom's door more than half an hour before time.

Well, Moraku had told them that Friday mornings would contain practical lessons. However, they were very early.

It didn't take long and Moraku arrived. A ghost of a smile adorned his face; otherwise he was very hard to read.

"Good morning."

The teenagers offered a quiet greeting.

"Very well. Please, follow me."

Without saying anything more, he turned around and walked away. Wondering if this would be like one of the practical lessons they'd used to have with Professor Lupin, all students followed.

They hesitated when they saw him walking towards the entrance, but nobody dared to speak. When they walked onto the grounds, each of them was glad not to have spoken since Moraku didn't seem surprised they'd left the castle.

Harry bent his wrist in order to gain easy access to his wand. Although he noticed they were heading towards the Quidditch pitch and not the Forest, he had no intention of lowering his guard.

Trust or not, they were at war and Voldemort had an unsurpassed talent of manipulating people or forcing them to do things they didn't want to.

All worries were very soon proven to be unnecessary.

Their new Defence teacher led them onto the pitch and explained that they wouldn't be practicing duelling before January. Until then, they would be learning tactics, defensive techniques and everything else that couldn't be studied by books.

Harry and Ron both shortly took a glance at Hermione, but she seemed to be taking it remarkably well.

"You will all remember what we've discussed three days ago concerning the basic form of defence. Today, we will practice your senses to train the alertness of your mind as well as the first step of how to physically defend yourself. At first, I want you to find some space… just enough you can turn on the spot without having anybody near you at arm's length. This, for the rest of the lesson, shall be your personal space and nobody is allowed to enter it without your permission. I want you to respect each other's space." They did as he'd told.

Moraku positioned himself as well. His knees were slightly bent and his feet created one vertical line with his shoulders. It looked like a rather relaxing position.

"Very good. Now… I want you to close your eyes and take deep breaths, in and out. Let your body move with it, up when you inhale, down when you exhale. Take deep breaths. Do not just move your chest, but your stomach as well. Calm down."

Then he was silent and simply breathed, eyes closed.

Hesitantly they looked at each other until Crabbe surprised them all by copying their teacher's position and starting to breathe. Everybody else followed his example.

It wasn't as simple as it looked. Harry's legs weren't used to such a position and his thighs started acting up within a few minutes. He had to straighten up in order to be actually capable of concentrating on his breathing.

When he'd finally found a comfortable position to stand, he could focus on inhaling and exhaling.

It felt a little bit like his shields, really. He settled down thanks to the rhythm of his heart and breathing.

He didn't know how long he was standing there just breathing – he was surprised how hard that was.

Then, his focus changed. Not unlike his way to practice Occlumency, he found peace, a short moment of freedom. He let the feeling flood him and _added _it to his shields.

All of a sudden, he heard Ron's breathing as well (he was slightly unstable on his feet, as if struggling to keep awake with his eyes closed), Hermione's was even and precise (her heart was beating faster than it should: She was probably wondering what it was about).

He knew where they all were and their Defence teacher was standing right behind him (albeit at arm's length).

He snapped out of his breathing practice, turned around with his wand at the ready. However, his movements were too quick and his head felt empty for a moment, as if blood had left it. He staggered, but Moraku immediately caught him.

His grip was strong but kind at the same time: He wouldn't let him fall, but he had the opportunity to free himself.

For a moment, he could have sworn his teacher's eyes had widened.

Very quietly, in a soft voice, Moraku spoke again: "Well done. Now, very slowly, I want you to open your eyes. Adjust to your position. You may sit down if you feel dizzy. Do not forget to breathe."

Since their reaction had been much more rational and calm, nobody else staggered. Some blinked repeatedly looking a little confused, though. Harry had the urge to sit down, but nobody else seemed to be inclined to which was why he tried to overcome his weakness.

"You better sit down, Mr Potter. You'll settle down faster that way, believe me." Harry's cheeks reddened when he slowly sat on the ground. He hadn't noticed how fast his heart was beating, almost as if he'd run one hundred yards at top speed.

"What do you think, how long have we been doing this?"

The answers couldn't have varied more: Malfoy complained it had taken ages (thereby forcing Crabbe into silence who had opened his moth to speak), Seamus and Dean didn't complain, but they agreed. On the other hand, Millicent and Neville swore they'd just closed their eyes. Blaise however repeated Seamus' statement. Hermione too said that it had taken a while, but Ron said they'd probably been practicing for about five minutes.

Harry couldn't say it. He'd lost track of time, but it hadn't taken ages. He simply didn't know.

"We've been practicing for three quarters of an hour," Moraku said. "You've all done well, especially since it was your first breathing-practice. The first few weeks will be taking just as long, until I think you are ready to do otherwise."

For a moment, he didn't speak before he talked again: "This is my first homework to you. Every morning, after you woke up, I want you to stand there and breathe. It is nothing I can control, but I will see the results. Do not fret however; there are some of you who'll just need more time than others. I am aware of that."

"Next time, we will be doing more than this week, but it is very tiring to breathe like this which is why for today, I will simply introduce you to the next exercise."

Hermione lifted her hand, only to put it down again: "Sir, this breathing practice… What does it do?"

"All in good time, Miss Granger. In about a month you'll be told," he answered evenly. He didn't sound annoyed, though; he seemed to have expected the question.

The Japanese wizard continued his lesson: "The body is attacked, the body must react. That is the essence of self-defence. Mr Potter told you, non-magical folk know this and now I want you to practice it. You see, defensive magic is a branch, which is very much formed by culture. What I'm going to teach you will be the way of defence your former teachers have introduced to as well as the one of my native culture."

"So," Seamus said, blunt as always, "Japanese Wizards defend the way you're going to tell us about?"

"I dearly hope you will not deduct from one person to an entire society," he sounded serious without snapping at the Gryffindor. "I will teach you certain defence styles that are taught in Japan, but I would never claim to know them all. What I'm trying to say is that most defensive spells you know merely need wand movement and an incantation… A spell for a spell, so to speak; a direct counter. What I want you to learn now is to step away. Like this."

The movement was so fast nobody could follow it. One moment Moraku was at one place, the next he was at another.

Slowly he repeated the motion and told them to copy it: At first your feet stand parallel to each other, then you move your right leg straight to the side while only a second later your left leg is drawn back in a position so you'll still face your enemy. Your right leg is in front of the left while the left foot stands in a slight angle.

For the rest of the lesson they studied that one movement while Moraku helped them. He was strict, but very quiet and he never seemed frustrated, despite the fact Neville didn't seem to have two but three left legs entangled with each other.

And even those who coordinated well were thrown off when Moraku told them to do the same movement, but to evade to the left this time.

Harry wasn't very graceful at his first few tries, not the calm way some of the Slytherins did it: Malfoy moved as if he were dancing, so did Blaise, Nott and Pansy.

Millicent who had practiced within hearing range had murmured: "Mom, Dad, when I said I would no longer take dancing classes you should have been a lot more persistent."

Harry wished to have taken such classes as well.

* * *

No, Mr Potter couldn't be called graceful at that. But his movements were solid as if he'd been practicing the art of evasion for years. He didn't hesitate and he wouldn't in the face of danger.

Professor Aikokyiushin was aware of that.

* * *

So, I decided to split this chapter into four parts... I hope that's okay.

I received EIGHTEEN reviews for my last chapter... That's... Wow! You guys should have seen me grin:-) THANK you! You really inspired me to continue this story.

It's already planned out, but to actually type it is another matter...

Special thanks to my Beta MissGoalie75. You are excellent, I'm learning a lot.


	18. Finding Common Ground, Part Four

**Chapter 11, part four: Finding Common Ground**

"GRYFFINDOR SCORES!" Dean screamed into the magical megaphone in a way that would have made Lee Jordan very proud.

It was a beautiful day: the atmosphere was cheerful and the players were eager to impress the audience on the first game of the season.

"Gryffindor leads seventy to ten in this marvellous game of Quidditch against Hufflepuff. She's got excellent ball control, Gryffindor's new Chaser Natalie McGonaga…" A murderous look by his Head of House and several snickers from the audience caused him to notice what he'd almost said and Dean corrected himself last minute.

"…McDonald of course. She certainly knows how to control balls… I mean…"

He turned bright red and so did Seamus who sat next to him, the latter however for a different reason: he had been able to contain his amusement after his best friend's first slip of the tongue, however after that comment it burst out of him and he fell off his chair out of laughter, which was heard through the entire Quidditch pitch. Several students joined in and Professor McGonagall simply rolled her eyes exasperatedly.

Dean could swear she muttered something about 'boys' and never before in his life had he been so grateful to see his roommate take a sudden dive.

He looked down, following his friend's gaze and saw it: "Harry Potter has seen the Snitch! Hufflepuff's Seeker is nowhere to be seen. GO GET IT, HARRY!"

The Gryffindors joined his cheers while Hufflepuffs called for Michelle Clarford, a Third Year Substitute Seeker since Marcus Phillas had left Hogwarts to help his father with his mother's funeral.

"HARRY GOT THE SNITCH! GRYIFFINDOR WINS 220 TO 10!"

The result wasn't representative for the game.

Surely, Gryffindor had dominated; especially Ron had demonstrated that he could be an excellent Keeper despite his nervousness. However, the Badgers hadn't given up without a fight.

It had taken twenty minutes (!) before Gryffindor had been able to score for the first time due to an excellent Keeper on Hufflepuff's side, a Seventh Year named Marlin Jones, and Zacharias (the team's Captain) putting together a solid team. To lose so clearly by score was devastating.

The Gryffindors waited until every Hufflepuff was down on the ground. They congratulated them to a good game and said that they were looking forward to their next meeting. All of them shook hands.

Zacharias Smith looked grim, but he was quiet.

Poor Michelle hid her face behind her hands. She hadn't even seen the Snitch, that little thing which was still tightly held in _his_ grasp.

Harry Potter.

Why? Why, in Merlin's name, had her first and most likely last official match for the next three years had to be against no other than Harry Potter?

She hadn't been able to sleep properly ever since Zacharias had come to her and said that Marcus wouldn't be able to play on Saturday. She wondered how calmly an outstanding and experienced player such as Harry Potter slept the night before a big game.

Michelle was a shy girl. She'd never spoken a word to him and was in awe of Hannah, Susan and especially Eloise who spoke of and to him so casually, as if he were just another classmate.

She hadn't been capable of opening her mouth when he'd talked to her today.

Harry Potter had talked to her today, had wished her a good, first game!

She hadn't returned anything, had merely looked at him with wide eyes straight into his…

Those emerald green eyes every girl would be ready to kill for…

_And he wasn't even aware of it! _Michelle thought.

She couldn't be sure, but by what Susan Bones had told them, he wasn't particularly aware of his looks or the impression he made.

He was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived…Best Seeker in many years, most likely professional league material… He was leading two clubs for self-defence (meaning he was a teacher, but still a student)… He was known to be friendly and rather kind… He had those emerald green eyes and finally got a little bit taller, not tall enough to be called tall, but tall enough to look into most girls' eyes without having to look up.

Was the guy completely blind or did he just enjoy playing around?

"No need to be embarrassed," the green-eyed dream smiled at her in a friendly manner and all suspicion vanished, "Ron and Hermione had to force-feed me before my first game and if I hadn't nearly swallowed the Snitch, I don't know if I would've been able to grasp it, my hands wouldn't stop shaking. It'll pass."

_Ah…er… __Huh?_

Michelle's head felt empty so suddenly, it amazed her how the vacuum didn't suck in all of her surroundings. She simply looked at him stupidly and didn't say a word.

Thankfully, some Gryffindor – that Irish kid from Harry Potter's class – congratulated him and his attention was caught elsewhere. For a brief moment she wondered if her face looked as red as the Weasley's hair.

They'd just about finished shaking each other's hands when Zacharias stood right in front of Harry. The latter lifted his hand, which was ignored by the younger student who looked past him and started talking to Marlin who looked extremely uncomfortable at the awkward situation.

The Boy Who Lived closed his eyes in exasperation, yet he refrained from saying anything. He was tired of this constant degradation.

Unfortunately, Ron had seen his reaction and anger coursed through the taller boy. Before Harry could say anything, he already stepped forward and roughly grabbed the shoulder of Zacharias Smith, who turned around, obviously in a mood to fight.

"What is your problem?" the youngest male Weasley hissed, sounding more like Nagini than a human being.

"None of your business." Zacharias tone matched Ron's perfectly.

Marlin and Harry, both sensing danger, stepped in front of their respective teammate.

"Ron, it's fine…" the black-haired young man began soothingly, but he'd chosen the wrong words.

"No. Don't you dare say _fine_, Harry. You're not _fine_. The way he treats you isn't _fine_. Don't you ever say _fine_ again because that word lost _all _meaning coming from you!"

"Ron…"

So, he didn't feel great about Zacharias' constant belittling. And, honestly, who would? It wasn't a big deal. There were more important things going on.

Yet, maybe that was why his best friend had this need to protect him from verbal assaults. He could do something about those… unlike about Voldemort.

Ron lifted both hands in a defensive manner and said: "Just… He's a prat!" Zacharias snorted derisvely for he listened to every word.

The tall Weasley turned his head sharply hissing : "Shut up!"

The Fifth Year Hufflepuff quickly advanced, but Marlin stopped him. The Boy Who Lived grabbed his best friend's shoulder and murmured: "Go. I'll handle this."

Ron didn't even think about moving. Sternly, he met his friend's gaze. His lips were pressed together and he slowly shook his head.

"Let's just celebrate. You go ahead," the black-haired boy said desperately, "Please?"

Slowly, very slowly, the lanky, underage wizard retreated never once taking his eyes off Zacharias whom he regarded menacingly.

His message was clear: _'One word, git! If I see Harry's expression as much as falter, I will take you apart!'_

He took one last glance at Harry and walked away. However, he stopped not too far away observing them closely.

Perhaps, it was Ron's looming presence… For whatever reason, Zacharias didn't approach Harry, he simply regarded him coldly.

Then, he said solemnly, "I don't like you. That's not a secret. However, unlike what your friends seem to believe, it doesn't make me a bad person. My aunt, my mom's older sister, she died fighting You-Know-Who during the first war, but nobody speaks of that. Everybody talks about the Potters and the Boy who Lived, which isn't fair! There were many people fighting, but nobody speaks of them. My aunt… she was an Auror, it was her duty, but unlike many others back then she _had done_ what was her duty. She died saving several civilians and yet her family hardly received a thank you and her death broke my mother's heart." His voice didn't sound bitter, but the tone rang in Harry's ears.

"So, I don't like you and I'm not going to. I am not going to follow you. I don't believe you can save the Wizarding World, that you are the Chosen One. But I'll be dead before I let those people win. That's why I'm in the DA: to learn how to fight and to survive. Anything to say, Potter? Are you going to throw me out of the DA?"

"What was her name?" Harry asked, instead. Zacharias looked stunned at the question.

"She might not be remembered by many, but those she saved and her family… They won't forget her. I'd like to know her name, too."

"Laura Rowe."

_("Errol, you are weak," Voldemort had said coldly, several months back, "That is why Laura Rowe was able to ambush you all those years ago. It took six of my Death Eaters to strike down _one_ Mudblood. Six, and yet she nearly killed you all. I will not accept such weakness _ever_ again."_)

Harry suppressed a shudder at the sudden memory, looked Zacharias in the eyes and said, "I won't forget her name. Goodbye, Zacharias. I'll see you on Tuesday."

At that he turned around and walked into the cheering crowd joining his friend who hadn't stopped observing them.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Harry woke up early the next day, though by his standards one could say it was almost late.

Happy to have slept for so long, he grabbed some of his books and left the dormitory. He'd finished all of his homework yesterday morning in order to distract himself from the Quidditch match (the fact those games still managed to make him nervous was humorous, but also a tiny bit embarrassing). However, there was still a lot of stuff to do.

Ever since Flitwick had asked for his advice concerning Helena Clearwater he'd been pondering on the idea of writing his theories down. He wanted to remind all those who didn't have the ability to visualize a spell that it was still possible to do nonverbal magic.

He doubted that anybody would ever be interested in his notes, but who knew? Stranger things had happened.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw a lone figure sitting at the fire.

"Neville?" he whispered, when he recognized the form.

The young man was startled and turned around. "Merlin, Harry! Is it already morning?"

His eyes were red as if he'd been crying. He pretty much looked dead on his feet. The distance was overcome within seconds and the boy with emerald eyes was at his friend's side.

"What's up?"

"Nothing," was the rough reply, "I'm fine."

Harry nearly laughed out loud at the answer, not only because of what had been said yesterday, but because Neville's _fine_ sounded exactly like his.

He didn't say anything and merely lifted his eyebrows. Neville avoided eye contact.

"Neville?"

"On the day exactly, fifteen years ago, Bellatrix Lestrange, her husband Rodolphus, Rabastan Lestrange and another follower of You-Know-Who tortured my parents to insanity," the timid boy whispered, his shoulders hunched, "Ever since I was old enough to understand the significance of the date, I don't sleep that particular night."

Neville's distress a few days ago suddenly made so much more sense.

Harry sat down next to him and laid his right hand on his left shoulder and asked the only question that came to mind: "Where were you?"

He couldn't have been there. The Dementors would've had a greater affect on him three years ago if he had.

"At Gran's. I've never asked her why, though… I mean, why I wasn't with them? I sometimes wonder if they knew something like this could happen. If they had known, they never would've gone, right? They wouldn't have risked …"

The Boy Who Lived swallowed drily. For an instant he was glad that this question – undoubtedly asked aloud for the first time in fifteen years – was directed at him.

Because he knew what to say…

"My Mum needn't have died, Voldemort said so himself. She begged him to kill her instead of me. My Dad was ready to face him all alone. It was brave, far braver than anything I've ever heard of and yet… I cannot help but wonder why they didn't just run. They had time, they could have Apparated… They could have… Our parents, Neville, yours and mine and many others I'm sure, they died to give us a future, they gave up their lives so we could lead our own and all we can do now is trying to make them proud."

"It's just… If they did it for us… What if they've chosen wrong?"

"Neville," Harry said sharply and the boy's face snapped back up looking right into the powerful emerald, "If your parents see who their son has become, I'm sure they will be proud and they wouldn't doubt their decision for a second. Don't do it in their name!"

Neville's lip quivered. He was relieved, Harry knew that. The pain had been like poison eating him up from the inside. Now, the poison was about to leave the body and there was nothing better to release that toxin than tears.

Not really thinking about his next move, Harry laid an arm around his friend's shoulders and pulled him a little closer. Without saying a word, he listened to the desperate sobs and, for a brief moment, wished to do the same.

He wondered what his parents would say should they ever see him again. He thought of a black dog and closed his eyes in pain.

They wouldn't be proud.

He simply hoped they didn't hate him and that they didn't regret the choices they'd made.

Neville's sobs slowly subsided and Harry let him go. He wasn't surprised when he saw the other boy look away and decided not to say anything. He didn't want to add to his friend's embarrassment.

"How d'you know?" the last of the Longbottoms asked the last of the Potters.

"I'm sorry?"

"I know what I know from stories my Gran told me. But how do you know what happened?"

Harry was quiet for a moment before he snorted derisively. "Dementors aren't chatty, but they do give information you never wanted to have. Voldemort can be chatty if it serves his purpose. It did when I was eleven, it doesn't anymore."

Neville blanched, but he hadn't flinched when he'd mentioned Tom Riddle's name.

"Have you ever wondered?" Harry briefly wondered if Neville were that talkative had he been anybody else. "What it would've been like to grow up with them?"

They were both orphans: Harry by definition, Neville by circumstance. When their eyes met, there was a sudden moment of mutual understanding that hadn't ever been there before.

"Every other day," Harry whispered, "You?"

"Yeah, me too."

Silence followed filling the room; the only noticeable noise was the crackles of the fireplace.

Then, Neville's hand collided with his forehead. It happened so fast, Harry only managed to hear the clapping sound.

"I am so sorry." Neville looked deeply mortified. He explained further when he recognized his friend's profound confusion. "Halloween… Merlin, Harry, I didn't think. Of course, you would… I'm such an insensitive git!"

The boy with raven-black hair looked incredulous at the last statement. Neville, insensitive? He'd rather not think about what the rest of the male student body would be called if that statement were true.

Neville had been a little enthusiastic about Halloween, but understandably so. Harry had never indicated that the holiday bothered him. How could Neville have known?

"It's okay. You're not a git. You didn't think of it…"

"Exactly," he was interrupted by the sixteen-year-old, "Everybody knows what happened fifteen years ago, Harry, everybody! And I…"

"What does everybody know?" the Boy Who Lived interjected. He already knew the answer, but he wanted Neville to realize it by himself.

"The story. Your story. The night You-Know-Who disappeared."

"Precisely. It's a day people are used to celebrate, Neville. Very few people associate it with my parent's death. Wizarding Society relates that date with my life and Voldemort's disappearance, not with anything else. I'm not expecting you to realize…"

"But I do," Neville replied angrily, "You're my friend, Harry. I should know what this day means to you and I didn't think of it. I'm sorry."

All argumentative points evaporated after that statement.

Neville Longbottom was a far better friend than he was.

There was only one thing left to say: "Forget it. Thanks for thinking of it now."

He didn't say 'I forgive you' for there was nothing to forgive.

Once again they succumbed to silence.

Just like before, it was Neville who broke it. "What are you doing?"

"Do you remember what I told you about spells and the five senses? I'm thinking of writing it down…"

At that, a lively conversation about magic and everyday struggles started and each of them had quite a lot of fun discussing.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"Is that Hedwig?"

It was Monday morning and the Golden Trio were sitting at breakfast when Ron recognized familiar white feathers.

Harry looked up at the question and smiled. "Dudley wrote back."

Their correspondence wasn't often, but regular and Harry felt that giddy feeling of anticipated joy he hadn't come accustomed to quite yet when it came to his cousin.

Hedwig landed right next to him, the letter fell into his lap.

"Thanks, Hedwig," he smiled and offered her his pumpkin juice. Then he opened the letter:

_Dear Harry_

_How are you? _

_That was quite a letter you wrote. I will of course pay attention to what I write and I will be careful not to say too much. _

_Thanks for all those little explanations concerning magic (Hey, I wrote it down! I actually wrote it down!). So, photographs kind of work like television… That's nice._

_I had to laugh when I realized you people actually fly on broomsticks. I simply imaged Dad's face should he ever find out about that._

Harry laughed at the image as well.

_Quidditch (I had to reread your letter three times before I got the word down), it kind of sounds like football, especially if you look at the enthusiasm you people seem to have for this sport. Do you play? You mentioned those four Houses at your school. It sounded to me like rivalling schools to some point, only that they all come from the same castle._

_Those Dementors are terrible… It must've been terrifying to fight them last summer. Thanks for having done this, Harry._

_Marcus is great. We take many classes together and it's fun being around him. He's got a brother who's seven years younger than him. His name's Thomas and he worships the ground Marcus walks on. Marcus, on the other hand, is extremely protective of him. Seeing those two together makes you wonder what our relationship would be like had I treated more like a cousin than dirt on my shoes. _

_It's not as bad as you think. They just call me Fatty, Blob and other things. I can hold my own, don't worry._

_So, you guys really are at war? Are you in danger somehow? _

_I hope to read from you soon!_

_Dudley_

Deeply in thought, Harry folded the letter and put it away. It seemed as if his cousin was being bullied at school. A few years ago, this fact would have granted him grim satisfaction. Today, it filled him with anger.

Dudley was making an effort; they had no right talking down on him.

As for his last question, Harry realized for the first time how clueless his cousin was about the world he came from. He might have heard that Harry was famous, but he was unaware of its significance.

"Let me guess," Ron said, his face carefully impassive, "He wasn't fooling you. He just managed to hurt you again."

"It's not his fault." The Boy Who Lived jumped into defence immediately, "He… He simply doesn't really know me. That's all."

The red-haired boy must have heard his grief over that fact for he didn't ponder on it. Together they left the Great Hall, heading for Charms.

"Hey!" a voice called behind Harry, who turned around.

He had to look up to see the tall boy's face. He had brown hair and was of slim stature as if instead of growing, someone had tied his feet to the ground and then had just torn the body without bothering to build up muscle first. He looked very pale and there were dark shadows around his eyes.

Harry had never seen the kid.

"Harry? Ernie said it was okay to approach you. I'd like to talk to you… My name's Marcus Phillas."

Ah. That name he knew, the haggard face made more sense now. He saw the boy cringe when he recognized what connection Harry had made to the name.

"We missed you at the game the day before yesterday," the Boy Who Lived said, smiling a little. No need to brutally slam into his face that his mother had died. They both knew that he was aware of it.

Relieved, Marcus smiled at the comment. It looked weak, but at least it was honest.

Harry looked at Ron, who simply said that they'd meet in Charms class.

"I can't stand the way everybody is looking at me," the fifteen-year-old said quietly, avoiding eye contact.

Harry surveyed the room with a short glance and was able to recognize at least seven people observing them, two of them whispered to each other.

"I know how you feel," he merely replied.

""Which is why I'm here," Marcus explained, "You're the only person I know who…"

"Lost his parents?" the Boy Who Lived completed. Sirius' death had given him a different insight into grieving for a parent, however he couldn't imagine how utterly lost Marcus and his father had to feel at the moment, "Marcus, listen. I might not be the right person to talk to…"

"I'm not asking you to talk, just to listen. You think that's possible? Not now, I've got to go to class, but sometime, maybe…?"

At that, Harry consciously met the taller boy's face and focused. A wave of grief, suppressed anger and helplessness overcame him and it took all of his willpower to stay calm.

"Anytime," he answered. Maybe, he'd be able to ease the pain.

A few minutes later, he stood in Professor Flitwick's class. They were looking at nonverbal summoning and banishing charms, two spells he was able to perform flawlessly. His Charms professor had anticipated this however and had told him (and Hermione shortly after) to combine the spells.

He'd created somewhat of a labyrinth and they received the instruction to send _Standard Book of Spells, Volume 6_ through it. Objective was to do so without touching the walls, therefore it was a necessity to use both charms alternately, sometimes almost simultaneously. The only other incantation they were allowed to use was _Wingardium leviosa._

Hermione was the only one who came close to success at her very first try. Harry had forced Flitwick to strengthen the labyrinth walls since his nonverbal summoning charms tended to be strong enough to break them.

By the end of the lesson, Hermione had passed the labyrinth twice without touching any wall while Harry (although very sophisticated with the spells) was struggling. The bell rang, but he didn't want to stop trying just yet.

"You'll be late for Herbology, Mr Potter. But you're welcome to come by after lunch." For a brief moment, Harry wondered why Flitwick sounded delighted and amused at the same time.

So, here he was again three hours later. He knocked and entered.

Professor Flitwick sat at his desk, seemingly correcting homework.

"Ah, come in, Mr Potter," he smiled.

"I apologize for interrupting your lunch yet again, sir." These were Harry's first words when he closed the door behind him.

"Nonsense," Flitwick squeaked and energetically jumped from the books on his chair, seemingly glowing with enthusiasm. He gestured at the labyrinth and Harry had to stifle a laugh.

It sounded like a cough. "Well, that's not quite the same as this morning."

The maze was huge, in fact, covering half of the classroom.

"We've got time, have we not, Mr Potter," the tiny wizard chimed in good-humouredly.

"I guess…"

"Let us not waste it, then."

And so Harry tried.

And tried.

Half an hour and thirty-six failures later, Harry lowered his wand forcing himself not to sigh exasperatedly. He simply couldn't figure out what the problem was. He was proficient with both spells, but seemed to lack the finesse of safely leading the book along the walls without touching them.

"Miss Clearwater has overcome many of her difficulties with the Summoning Charm," Flitwick commented, obviously sensing his need for a short break.

"Your instructions helped her very much."

"That's good," Harry said truthfully.

"Why don't you think of flying as well?" The question was asked innocently, but there was that calculating look of his professor whenever he tried to figure out a problem.

"Because it's not the same. When I'm controlling the broom my hands are on it and yes, the wand is like an extension to my arm (therefore I'm holding the book), but the problem is that I can't sense where I'm leading the book since I'm not floating along with it."

"Then do just that. Mr Potter, when you see the Snitch… Are you directing the broom towards it or are you already there holding it while you're still on the way?"

"I'm not having an out-of-body-experience, sir. Quidditch doesn't work that way. Yes, your mind is partially several steps ahead, but you have to focus on where you are exactly, otherwise you're knocked off your broom faster than you can think 'oops'."

"Think of the book as the Snitch," Flitwick said patiently. "Your spell is the broom you have to direct towards it."

He sucked at visualization. He'd hoped the tiny wizard had realized that by now…

But if he controlled the charms the same playful way he did a broom… If he remembered the feeling of holding the broomstick, quickly and yet precisely leading it across the field… The feeling connected with his magic and his wand movement adjusted to the new approach_…_

It was almost too easy. The book flew across the labyrinth with ease comparable only to Harry's casual movements on a broom and landed safely in his hand.

He couldn't help but stare at his teacher, who looked delighted.

"And now, let's see how well you can _feel_ a maze's correct path without seeing it." At that his wand twitched and the labyrinth was covered with stone.

However, Harry's intuition (now that he'd understood his teacher's intention) was nearly infallible.

Nearly.

.-.-.-.-.

Just when Harry was having his small triumph in the Charms classroom, Snape heard loud voices nearby his office.

He felt a mixture of worry and exasperation when he stood up to break off the argument. His Snakes should know by now it wasn't a good idea to start fights when he was around and to argue so loudly near his office was never a good sign for it meant that at least one of his Slytherins had lost their composure.

He quietly left the office and walked towards the origin of the noise. He was only separated from it by one corner when he recognized the voices.

"_I won't!"_ Miss Nott screamed angrily, "_You can't make me_."

Siblings' Quarrel! Without having to hear Mr Nott's voice, he was able to deduct it from the younger girl's tone.

"_Please_," to Snape's great surprise, Mr Nott sounded desperate, "_Angelica, please! I beg you. Stop going to Potter's Defence class. Please!"_

"_No! I like going there. Harry's nice and so are the others leading the DC when he's not around_." If the words didn't anger her older brother, their Head of House knew that her defiant tone certainly would.

And, as he had suspected, Mr Nott got angry, but panic overruled the Sixth Year's heart.

"_Hush!"_ he hissed sharply, "_For Merlin's sake, be quiet, Angelica!_" Snape could practically hear him look around, "_Don't ever say that again! Dad…"_

"_Dad said it was okay_." The – oh-so-young but foolish – girl said in obvious victory over her brother. Snape blanched at the thought, he could only imagine what Mr Nott felt. If the Dark Lord found out about this…

The Order's spy could only hope their father had the mental capacity (and unlike many others, Nott had) not to mention this to their master. On the other hand, if the Dark Lord decided to use Legilimency on the wizard, the entire family would be doomed.

"_You… Look, Angelica, please, don't go and don't talk about it_." Theodore Nott's voice sounded shaky.

"_Why?"_

'_Because your brother only wants to protect you, because he doesn't want you to be responsible for your family's peril.'_

"_Because as your brother it is my job to protect you and I will not fail to do so again!" _

Snape nearly winced at that answer. It wasn't a wildly known fact, but he as the boy's Head of House was of course aware that one year before they would have started at Hogwarts, Mr Nott's twin sister had died, which had been a terrible tragedy for the entire family, especially for Theodore for she'd died in his arms.

What exactly had led to her death, nobody outside of the family knew, which was why Snape suspected that either the girl had been a Squib and had been dealt with by a close relative (Augustus Nott was capable of terrible things, but he cherished his children more than his own life) or it had been a horrific burst of accidental magic.

"_Please!"_

The girl might be defiant, but she wasn't cruel. Never would she do anything to give her brother that much pain. There was silence for a moment and Snape was quite sure they'd just fallen in each other's arms.

"_Sorry_," Angelica Nott whispered, but was hushed immediately.

Severus Snape felt profound pride towards his Snakes.

Many of them struggled with the war at the moment, yet all of them did what they thought was right.

Even if it meant pretending to follow a madman in order to protect their family…

He simply hoped that Theodore would manage to walk upon the knife's edge. Less than an inch to either side would clear the road to darkness or death.

When he heard them walking towards him, he turned around to enter his office again. However, shortly before he opened it he glanced back only to recognize panic in Mr Nott's eyes. Tiredly, he closed his eyes as soon as he was alone.

Mr Nott would never trust to speak to him again until both of their loyalties could be laid out openly. He could only hope this would happen as long as both of them were still alive.

.-.-.-.-.

It had been today's overheard conversation between Angelica and Theodore Nott which had motivated Snape to attend to Potter's (_Harry's_) defence lesson for younger students.

It had absolutely nothing to do with his curiosity at how the Boy Who Lived dealt with children, whose concentration span wasn't long yet. That he'd told Minerva yesterday he would supervise this evening's class was a shier coincidence.

It was a depressing thought that he could no longer fool himself. He'd been able to do so perfectly for five years, had been able to taunt Potter's son for things he knew he hadn't done without having a moment's hesitation. These days, he wasn't capable of it without feeling profound remorse.

Class began earlier than DA lessons. It was five when every student had arrived. Next to Harry, three members of the other Defence club were present as well: Miss Granger, Weasley and Longbottom.

Though he contemplated over Longbottom's presence, it was a wise decision not to lead the class alone. There were thirty people in the Great Hall.

The tables had been put aside and some teacher had conjured mattresses and cushions. The so-called _Defence Club_ wasn't in existence for a long time, which was why Harry's obvious routine with instructing students and preparing a room for class was undeniably helpful.

Currently, he was chatting with Miss Zantura, who hadn't stopped smiling ever since the older boy had entered the room. Her lack of fear concerning the sixteen-year-old had a soothing effect on everybody else.

"I thought Professor McGonagall was supervising tonight's lessons," Professor Aikokyushin's voice disrupted his stream of thought. Surprised that the man had been able to sneak up on him, he turned around and nodded in a manner of silent greeting.

"The Deputy Headmistress has more important things to do than supervising children teaching children, _sensei_," he replied evenly. Truth was, Minerva had regretted not to be able to oversee tonight's lessons, but she'd had what the staff had come to call _corridor-duty_ the night before, meaning she had to walk across the corridors at night to make sure no student was wandering around after curfew. Normally, the teacher got some sleep despite of it, but last night Minerva had been kept on her feet by Peeves, a couple of Seventh Years and a pair of duelling Forth Years, which was why she wanted to go to sleep early tonight.

"May I enquire why you are here? It is my abhorrent duty to supervise this _club_ tonight, otherwise be assured that I wouldn't be here." He wondered if the man saw through his lie, because his facial expression didn't change, not even a little. He looked solemn, but kind. Not for the first time Snape was reminded of the headmaster.

"Mere curiosity, Professor Snape," the new Defence teacher answered.

"Concerning...?" He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it.

Professor Aikokyushin merely smiled. "I think Mr Potter wants to start the lesson."

And that he did.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Snape observed.

Lily's son worked differently with the younger students than he did with the older students: he seemingly had introduced various games, some of which the Potions Master recognized to be Muggle games such as Hide and Seek, others seemed to be magically modified. Among others was a game Weasley seemed to have created or at least had been named by him for it was called _Burrow_. Objective was to find a hole in the ground or to simply find something you could crawl under, then to cast a Flame-Freezing Charm.

The idea was brilliant, really.

How many times had the spy been forced witness the Dark Lord burning down a building? He rarely let them explode and even rarer did he expect random victims to survive. Therefore, he neglected to check on them.

Unless they were actual targets and – apart from the Boy Who Lived – no child was thought to be important enough to actually be a target, there was a good chance to survive by applying _the Burrow_ in moments of danger.

There were other games, most of them instructed to go into hiding and some included good tricks for defence such as the Disarming Charm or the most basic of shield charms (_Protego_).

There was a lot of laughter and sometimes it was loud and chaotic (even a little rough, occasionally), but it was remarkable how well Harry was able to survey the entire class.

As much as it pained him to admit, Longbottom had been a very sensible choice for help, because he was extraordinarily patient and (surely because he struggled with many spells himself) knew many tricks to make spell casting a little easier.

Miss Granger was excellent, had undoubtedly read every book on teaching techniques she could find, but for a prodigy such as herself it had to be extremely hard to understand some of the students' struggles.

Weasley's simple ways were appreciated especially by many of the male pupils.

During the lesson, which hadn't lasted for longer than an hour, neither of the professors had spoken a word. At the end, when Harry and his peers wished the younger ones a good night, the Japanese wizard started to speak:

"Marvellous," Professor Aikokyushin muttered.

"I must admit," Snape replied carefully, "Potter has been doing a decent job."

He felt severe eyes surveying his face, but compared to facing the Dark Lord or the headmaster it wasn't very intimidating. However, his Occlumency shields were firmly in place.

"Coming from you, that is a remarkable compliment." The latest member of the staff had spoken in a very matter-of-fact tone. Had he spoken in another manner, Snape would've interpreted it to be derisive. However, Professor Aikokyushin didn't seem to judge his behaviour, but took his words for what they were. It was remarkable how well the severe man was able to read Snape's comments.

Admittedly, it worried him a little bit.

"Good evening, Professors," Lily's son appeared in front of them. He openly smiled at his Defence teacher while he hardly looked at his Potions professor.

Snape wondered why he had the sudden urge to tear Aikokyushin apart. Especially, because he knew very well whose fault it was why the sixteen-year-old avoided eye contact.

"Good evening, Mr Potter." When the youngest of the staff observed the Japanese wizard's reaction, he was surprised to see the controlled mask disappear. It was replaced by obvious delight.

"Very impressive, Mr Potter. If you allow me, I would like to include some of your games into my lessons."

"They're not my games. Dennis had the idea to make the lessons a little bit more fun than they are in the DA, so some of us sat together and pondered which games would be good preparation for self-defence. But I'm sure nobody will object if you use them for your lessons. I'd be honoured if you do so."

Once again, Snape had the urge to hex the new Defence teacher for he'd been able to make Lily's son smile.

"Good evening, Professors," Miss Granger said standing next to her best friend.

"Miss Granger," Aikokyushin said bowing a little bit. "You've all done excellent work today. It is my experience that only those who are able to pass their knowledge have truly understood its essence. I was glad to see that you do."

The bushy-haired Gryffindor's cheek turned red. "Thanks, sir."

They started to discuss various topics and albeit they all seemed rather interesting, Snape was only listening with half an ear. He observed the raven-haired boy who was carefully silent. Occasionally, their gazes met but the underage wizard immediately avoided them.

Enough! He wanted to resolve the issue. He didn't want to spend another evening brooding over his mistakes.

"Potter," he said. His silence was broken unexpectedly he realized for even Aikokyushin seemed to startle a little, "Curfew is not for another two hours for Sixth Years. I might be occupied tomorrow evening, which is why I would like to have our _Remedial Potions Lesson _in advance. I hope it will not be _inconvenient_." His tone had lost nothing of its usual venom, a mask he was forced to wear, but he hoped that the Boy Who Lived would think his Occlumency lessons to be important enough to come despite his behaviour.

When he observed his student he realized that regardless of all ability to close off his mind, Harry was utterly incapable of concealing his feelings: at first there was anger, followed by embarrassment, realization and resignation.

"Of course, sir. When do you want me to be there?"

"You may follow me now," Snape said. He wished Professor Aikokyushin a nice evening, nodded shortly at Miss Granger and walked towards the door leading out of the Great Hall.

A few moments later, he heard quick footsteps behind him, but he refused to look back.

They didn't say one word to each other until Snape's office door closed behind them.

Fawkes' absence contributed to Harry's nervousness and the Potions Master's uneasiness.

It was best to do it quickly, like ripping off a Muggle band-aid.

"You do understand why it is a necessity for me to behave towards you the way I do in public, don't you?" Neither of them had bothered to sit down. Harry's shoulders were hunched as if prepared for an attack. They fell as soon as Snape's words were spoken.

"Yes, I do, sir," the Boy Who Lived answered quietly. Anger seemed to have disappeared, but he looked very sad.

Those emerald eyes should never look so sad.

"However, I will try to find balance between treating you the way I should and showing the face I'm inquired to in public."

Surprised, the green eyes looked up meeting cold, black ones. Snape's Occlumency shields were firmly in place.

Lily's son's obvious vulnerability made him look much younger than he was.

"Sir?"

"The performance you gave in class last week was adequate and therefore shouldn't have been commented by me as it was."

Hope. An emotion he'd never seen on the boy's face before now brightened it as if someone had casted _Lumos_. He never wanted to darken that face again.

"It wouldn't be wise for you to return to your dormitory just yet, otherwise there will be questions."

These words were followed by complete and utter silence causing Harry to smile tentatively.

"When do you think we'll be able to practice Occlumency again?"

"In a week, I'd say," Snape answered.

Oh, his shields were solid again, but that boy had broken into his mind before. He wanted to verify them before he'd be ready for any experiments.

"Good."

Again, there was only silence.

This time, the young man with unruly hair laughed outright. "Who'd have thought that it's easier to scream at each other than keeping up a polite conversation?"

"Which is why I prefer silence over idle chitchat," Snape interjected promptly. "A conversation only makes sense when there is something to talk about, otherwise it is simply annoying."

"I wondered if _Carbo medicinalis_ is a possible approach if I want to create a solid, protective shield thanks to a potion," the sixteen-year-old started after a moment's thought.

The idea was good. Very good, to be honest.

And so they started to discuss and it was ten minutes into the conversation when Snape realized how wisely Harry had chosen the topic for Potions was something he never grew tired of talking of and like this Harry could gain access to a Potions Master's knowledge without having to ask in class. It was the only way he was able to get answers from the Order's spy in general for only here Snape was able to speak openly without having to respond to the Dark Lord.

"So if Murtlap is not at hand, Arnica is good enough as a substitute?" Harry sounded surprised.

"Well, both of them soothe pain, but to strengthen Arnica's effect you need to add oak's bark. Both of them combined are very strong, especially if you suffer repeatedly from a wound, they support the healing process better than Murtlap."

Harry's reaction to his statement was strange: he covered his right hand and murmured, "If I'd known that…"

"I'm sorry?" That reaction was unusual.

"Nothing, sir." It was said too quickly and they both knew it. Snape's eyes narrowed a little for if there was one thing he despised it was lies.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Harry said avoiding his teacher's penetrating glance. Snape however decided that it mattered very much and quickly moved his wand so his student's right hand would be forced to show itself.

_I must not tell lies._

There was only one person who could have done this.

It was identifying the culprit through exclusion, really: the Dark Lord and his followers would do many things to Potter, but scarring him like this wasn't on the list; a Muggle (and he hoped for Dursley's sake that he'd never laid hands on Lily's son) wouldn't have had the power (he knew from own experience how well those wounds healed. As if they'd never been there.), so the only thing left was the staff.

He had undoubtedly been the hardest on Harry, from the regular staff at least, the only people that were left, were the Defence teachers: Quirrell had tried to kill the boy, but had never intended to torture him; Lockhart had been an idiot but not cruel; Lupin would cut off his own limb first before intentionally hurting his best friend's son and werewolves weren't exactly known to leave scars like this. Then Crouch…

All deduction was meaningless.

Last year, the Ministry had accused Harry Potter of telling lies, last year there had been a teacher who'd worked for the Ministry and who'd assigned Harry detention after detention. Last year, Harry Potter hadn't suffered from a physical injury heavy enough to be examined by Madame Pomfrey…

If he had, Snape sincerely doubted that Dolores Umbridge would still possess all four of her limbs.

"Why haven't you told anybody?" he asked while at the same time he tried to recall every single name that had received detention last year. Why hadn't any of the Houses' Heads been informed?

"I hated her, sir," it was spoken so coldly it caused a shiver running down the Potions Master's spine. It took a lot to earn the boy's contempt, but to have it wasn't exactly a goal one should want to achieve. "But first of all, Professor McGonagall told me to lay low, second of all, I know my Head of House, sir. She would've taken Umbridge apart. She might have lost her job and I believe that Professor McGonagall is worth more than a mere scar on my hand."

"The headmaster…" Snape's heart had clenched at the boy's words. He had planned on telling Minerva about this, but now he questioned that decision. He wasn't willing to give her the pain of feeling responsible for yet another scar on Harry's body.

"…Wasn't exactly available last year. I understand why he did it back then, but… I don't know… I thought he was angry for having lost his position on the Wizengamot because of me, so I really didn't want to bother him." He would not close his eyes in exasperation. He would not talk to Albus about this for he wouldn't be the one striking a deathblow, not towards the man who'd saved his life.

"Professor Flitwick and I, well, last year I wouldn't have even thought of approaching him and Professor Sprout I still wouldn't see for something like that and…" He looked at Snape, only to look the other way.

"I assume that you would've advanced everybody else before coming to me," he was surprised by the lack of bitterness in his own voice.

He was flabbergasted by the answer he received: "Last year, maybe. These days…" There was a moment of silence before Harry smirked just a little, "Well, even last year I would have come to you before approaching Professor Trelawney or Lockhart."

At that, something very strange happened. Severus Snape exhaled air sharply, which suspiciously sounded like a snort.

Taken aback, Harry stared at him and Snape looked back, eyes wide.

Once again, they were silent until the Boy Who Lived stood up.

"Well, I… So, your behaviour in class won't change considerably, but you won't …"

"I will not try to overcompensate for …" '_treating you like a human being'_ "My conduct during our Occlumency lessons."

"Okay," Harry said quickly, but undefined sadness remained, "Good night, Professor."

Just before the young man opened the door, Snape stopped him. "Be assured that I will never hesitate to state my opinion of you when you are in my office, Mr Potter."

For a moment, he looked a little confused, but then Lily's son beamed at him with an honest smile so bright it lightened the entire office.

Maybe, just maybe, not all hope was lost.

* * *

Finally, it is done! The eleventh chapter is written. I've never written such a long chapter in my life (sixty pages!). I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Special thanks to MissGoalie75, my Beta, who not only checks my mistakes concerning grammar and vocabulary, but also pays attention to my plot (whether it makes sense) and stile (whether it's understandable).

Thanks for every single review: Please, don't stop now :-)

_Next Chapter (Wow, I haven't written that in a while :-)): Of Reiki and Kirei _

By the way: For all those who haven't noticed: I've started to write another HP story ("Building Bridges") and it seems as if I'm incapable of starting small projects when it comes to Harry Potter fanfiction :-)


	19. Of Reiki and Kirei, Part One

**Chapter 12, Part One: Of Reiki and Kirei**

"_If you are about to do a very stupid thing… Walk first! Think before you act_." His mother had always said that when he'd been younger and Snape had taken that advice to heart, mostly. It hadn't kept him from making mistakes, but at least some had been avoided.

He'd long found that Hogwarts' corridors at night were exceedingly relaxing and very much fit for thinking over his troubles.

It was only now when he realized how utterly hypocritical it was of him to always sneer at Harry for walking through the castle's pathways after curfew. He'd done it, too, not as often as James Potter and never in order to pull pranks, but even as a student he'd preferred Hogwarts when it was vacated.

He heard a stranger's steps nearby and turned around swiftly, his wand at the ready though not lifted.

"I thought it was my turn of pursuing "corridor duty", Severus," Filius Flitwick said, calmly approaching his former pupil.

"Good evening, Filius," the Potions master replied, nodding slightly in a form of greeting, "I merely intended to take a walk."

"Nothing like a walk to clear your head," the tiny wizard said merrily.

Snape always deemed talking to the intelligent Head of Ravenclaw to be less abhorrent than talking to others. He was smart, subtle and his knowledge in magical theory was rivalled by no one except for the headmaster, who was admittedly in a league of his own.

In fact, his former teacher had become what only could be called a friend over the years, not unlike Minerva. However, unlike with the Head of his rival House, he was allowed to show his _approval_ much more openly. It was indeed remarkable how highly accepted the Charms professor was around his Snakes, undoubtedly thanks to the man's unequalled sense of treating his students fairly.

Those who were interested in experimenting, learning beyond what was on schedule were welcomed with open arms, no matter whether they were popular or just some awkward, lean children, avoided by the rest of the school. Oh, many spells he'd created he'd never shown to the man before him, but Flitwick was one of the few who knew of his talent concerning the design of something _new_, whether potion or charm.

"I was unaware that you too wander at nights, Filius."

Good-hearted chuckles escaped Ravenclaw's Head, causing his high voice for once to resemble a male teenager's.

"Don't we all as soon as we are allowed to… or not? Especially these days." The humour vanished as quickly as it had come and seeing the seriousness on the normally joyous man's face caused Snape's mind to crash with reality much more forcefully than he'd expected.

"Anyway, Severus. Tell me, what troubles you? Or rather, why have you felt the need to follow your mother's advice?"

At that, the Potions Master's face snapped down looking at Flitwick confusedly. Again, the response was a chuckle.

"Oh, Severus! I do know that my height sometimes causes people to overlook my presence, but I've known you for the last twenty-five years, not unlike Minerva or Albus for that matter. Have you expected me not to pay attention?"

The man ducked his head a fraction, still more than three times as tall as his former teacher. Then, instead of answering, he said, "I'm contemplating revenge on a toad."

"Have your ingredients been so vicious to you?" Professor Flitwick asked a little mystified, but then realization dawned, "Ah,_ that_ toad. Well, you may count me into those plans, Severus. However, will you please tell me where that sudden wish for vengeance comes from?"

"Have any of your students been _asked_ to serve detention with her?"

He could ask him. Unlike Minerva or Albus, it wouldn't break his heart.

"Not so many, four or five, not comparable to the Gryffindor house."

At first, he tried not to comment on that, but frustration concerning a certain black-haired boy took over and he said derisively, "That is because your students actually use their minds and don't walk head-on into a serpent's lair."

"Or a toad's, you mean?" Against his will, Snape's lips curled a little in amusement. "Why, Severus?"

_I must not tell lies_.

How cruel and how utterly wrong she'd been for the Potions professor knew that Dolores Umbridge had truly believed that the Dark Lord hadn't returned and she'd gone over length to make everyone else believe it, no matter whom she hurt in the process.

He knew that there was only one item that could have caused such a scar.

"She used a Blood Quill on our charges, Filius," he stated. He'd planned on saying it neutrally, indifferently, but he didn't succeed. His left hand was formed to a fist while his right unconsciously grabbed his wand. He looked rather threatening for a moment.

Filius was a benevolent man who despised violence unless it couldn't be avoided, which was why his murderous expression would've caused the Dark Lord himself to hesitate for a moment.

"What?" It was a mere acid whisper, his eyes were glistening. He too grabbed his wand and for the first time, Severus reckoned that an angry Dumbledore or his former master weren't the only people in this world you had to fear.

"I found out by accident," he told, not willing to feel disconcerted by the short wizard in front of him.

"_Nacr'a shài, bekn stian_," the Charms professor cursed, causing Snape to raise his eyebrows. It was rare to hear the powerful wizard speak Gobbledegock and althoug he was unable to understand it, he had a fair idea of what he'd said.

Then, the angry facial expression crumbled to be replaced by a painful one.

"Mr Potter… He served so many detentions."

Snape forced himself not to close his eyes and said, "Do you see why I can't tell neither Minerva nor the headmaster?"

Troubled eyes met black, uncaring ones, whose real emotions were hidden by an Occlumency shield of considerable strength.

"Whatever you plan, Severus, count me in." It didn't sound like a suggestion, more like a threat should he do otherwise.

"Potter finally managed to charm you as well, Filius?"

'_Hypocrite,_' he called himself.

The Charms teacher looked at him severely. Flitwick had never defended Harry outright when he'd spoken contemptuously, but he'd never approved of it. Today, he looked angry but at himself rather than at his former pupil. "Had I just bothered to see more clearly, I would have known how utterly false your opinion of him is."

'_You are not alone, Filius. Believe me, you're not alone,'_ he thought. What he said however, was, "Please, enlighten me." Sarcasm had always been his forte. He wondered if he'd always sounded as bitter when he spoke of Harry or whether it was just to keep up appearances.

"I've taught for forty-nine years at this school, Severus. I've taught more or less one and a half thousand students, some of who are rooted in my memory more clearly than others. Among other things, I've learnt to categorize talented students: a pupil who's capable of performing a spell with ease within a short amount of time is adept. A pupil who understands even the most complex matters is intelligent. A pupil who sees his own weaknesses and overcomes them by working around them is sharp-minded. A pupil who creates his own spells, who understands his theory and uses it to try something new, is brilliant. However, I still lack the proper expression to classify Mr Potter."

Snape had troubles holding eye-contact with the man in front of him due to the compliment he'd received. As flattering as it was, he didn't consider himself brilliant. The headmaster, surly, but he wasn't.

The last statement confused him, though. "I thought Potter merely acquired an 'E' in his OWLs. Although this indicates that he isn't an entirely hopeless case, it doesn't make him brilliant."

The tiny wizard looked at him sharply, then, he sighed. "Oh, Severus. Had we discussed this a few months ago, I would've concurred. I would've told you that he was reasonably talented, but nothing beyond, nothing gave me hope that he inherited his mother's or father's skills. The only time he'd displayed power beyond an upper average student was at the first task of the Triwizard Tournament two years ago. But then… I don't know what changed over the summer…"

'_Nothing of importance, Filius. He lost his godfather, became an Empath and is forced to visit the Dark Lord's lair every night and yet managed to remain sane.'_

"Sirius Black's death happened of course," Snape's former teacher said, "And that must've had a terrible impact on the poor child, but… I don't know." The way he stated that, it was clear how rarely it happened that he couldn't explain things. "He came to me and what he presented wasn't a new spell but an entirely new _approach_ on performing magic. You know what surprised me the most, Severus? It works for others, too. Whenever one of my pupils struggles, I'm trying to use Mr Potter's idea and more often than not I can see improvement. It's not always palpable, but it's there. That's why I lack a proper description. Mr Potter views magic differently than most. He knows his strengths and uses them, albeit sometimes he needs a little nudge into the right direction."

At that, Snape realized something he hadn't really thought of so far. Harry's shields, his abilities, they did much more than just protect his mind, they allowed him to reach outside the norm, to overcome the very limits of mind magic and if he interpreted Flitwick's words correctly, charms work as well.

"I think we've come off topic," Snape said instead of commenting, "I was talking about using a certain toad as potion ingredient."

"I wished you could see how very alike Lily he is, Severus," the Charms teacher's eyes displayed a moment of profound sorrow, grieving the death of a woman who'd died too early as well as deep regret over the hostility between a certain Boy Who Lived and a Potions Master.

'_I know already, Merlin be my witness, I know.'_

All he did was snorting slightly before his expression grew serious again. "Potions ingredient, Filius?"

"I suggest we should be more subtle, but as Head of Slytherin I am sure you can come up with a few ideas," the older wizard smirked.

That was why his Snakes liked the Charms professor. He viewed a Slytherin's cunning to be positive, not a potential knife in the back.

For a moment there was silence before Severus Snape's facial expression changed. It was a change not often seen, an expression with the power to cause nightmares within grown men. Those who'd been on the other side of it never wanted to see it again, should they have the opportunity of seeing anything ever again: the Potions Master smiled, a very cruel smile filled with vicious humour, his eyes flashed with barely suppressed anger.

It only spoke for the Charms professor's rather composed demeanour (or the hatred he felt for Dolores Umbridge) that he returned the smile: "I'm listening."

"Not yet, but very soon I will count you in on the plan to devastate the toad." Flitwick nodded patiently, but then, all of a sudden, his expression grew darker.

"What is it?"

"Harry," Snape briefly wondered whether his former teacher, too, had his struggles considering how to properly call Lily's son, "He had numerous detentions. I don't think it scarred, though. I'm not sure you know this, Severus, but the Blood Quill, if used often enough to leave a permanent scar, works akin to a weak Imperious curse, which is why it was deemed a Dark Object long ago. If the scar displays an order, you have no other choice but to obey for the rest of your life unless the scar is removed."

Of course, he knew this. It was part of his plans for vengeance. The old stories didn't say needlessly '_To hurt an Empath, is to hurt thyself.'_

'_You meddled with the wrong child here, toad. The Dark Lord himself had to learn that lesson. Now it's your turn.'_

"I wouldn't worry too much, Filius. After all, you speak of a boy who was able to fight off the Imperious curse when he was but fourteen-years-old."

And yet he worried, not that Umbridge actually managed to control Harry. The boy had told the world that he was fine so many times, it was clear he was able to lie consciously, however he worried.

About Harry's lack of will to fight when it came to himself, about the Dark Lord's plans for his nemesis, about the Unspeakables he'd rather not imagine what impact they'll have on an Empath when they were used for the first time.

He feared for the boy's life, but more than he feared for his peace of mind.

His heart.

* * *

A few minutes earlier, Harry had arrived at the Portrait Hole of the Gryffindor tower. His heart was beating heavily in his chest.

'_He doesn't hate me! Professor Snape doesn't hate me.'_

Well, he couldn't know it for sure but deducting from what the man had said, his apology hadn't been in vain.

"_However, I will try to find balance between treating you the way I should and showing the face I'm inquired to in public."_

The way he should… Harry couldn't quite fathom what that meant. Had Dumbledore told his Potions professor to be nicer to him? Or had he come to believe that his conduct wasn't appropriate? It had sounded a little as if he was forced to be nice.

It didn't really matter for he'd also said that he would always state his opinion during their Occlumency lessons and when Harry recalled the last lessons and noticed that the man had stopped being cruel during them quite a while ago.

So, yes, there was a possibility that Professor Snape didn't hate him. It filled him with hope, much more acutely than he was used to.

It filled his heart and he couldn't help but smile happily. He spoke the password and entered.

The Common Room was vacated except for Neville, Hermione and Ron who looked at him worriedly.

"What'd he do?" Ron asked sharply. His eyes glistened with anger, meant for a man he'd come to loathe. Neville didn't look as angry, but he didn't look fearful either. Snape's presence might still be able to make him nervous, but the mere thought of him didn't fill him with terror anymore. The fact he was no longer forced to touch a cauldron definitely helped.

Hermione didn't look angry at all. She was anxious, though.

"Nothing, Ron. Just, you know, _Remedial Potions Lessons_." He briefly considered telling Neville what that meant, but then decided against it, not because he didn't trust him but because he didn't want to bother him with his problems, "It wasn't too bad."

He was world's best actor these days when it came to lying about feeling _fine_. It shouldn't be too hard to convince them of the contrary.

Then, he remembered Ron's chastising words and wondered whether his acting skills would be enough.

They weren't. He could see in their facial expressions. However, they accepted his white lie for it was since he seemed strangely _relaxed_. They were grateful for whatever it was that would have caused the sentiment and decided not to ponder on it.

* * *

This night had been remarkably restful.

Voldemort had merely summoned those Death Eaters whose job it was to ingratiate with the giants. He'd punished them both by using the Cruciatus Curse for they hadn't been able to bring the _Tanruk _Clan on their side. Apparently, the Tanruk was a very old giant clan with incredible influence.

As long as they weren't on his side, he couldn't ever count on his allies not to double-cross him.

Which was why he decided to meet with the Tanruks himself.

That was when Harry woke up.

He felt sorry for whoever was called Mashk for he knew what Voldemort had planned for him. He was unable to just sit around and wait until he would undoubtedly witness the giant's horrible death. So, he grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and left the Common Room.

For once, without stumbling into any teacher, ghost or caretaker he reached the gargoyle and was glad to see that the password was still the same.

When he was standing in front of Dumbledore's office door he suddenly hesitated. Why, in Merlin's name, should the headmaster still be in his office at (he checked his watch) 4:30 in the morning?

"Harry," the old man's calm voice sounded surprised and this time the Boy Who Lived seriously wondered whether the man had implanted a sixth sense just for his presence. He entered.

Concerned, Dumbledore stood up – his desk was covered with sheets and sheets of parchment – and walked over to Harry. He wore a dark-blue cloak covered with stars that shone slightly in the shadows.

Before the man could ask, Harry told him what happened. While he talked, he walked over to Fawkes and softly caressed the bird that immediately closed his eyes again to sleep.

"Is there anything we can do for this Mashk, sir? Warn him, perhaps?"

"Her, Harry, and yes, I think there is." He lifted his wand and nonverbally casted his Patronus charm which held a phoenix form. It seemed as if there was a conversation without words before the Patronus flew out of the window.

When the glistening white charm was gone, the normally joyous office looked uncommonly dark. They were silent for a moment, before Harry asked, "How did you know it was me, sir?"

"I didn't," he nodded over to his Familiar, "Fawkes did. He always recognizes you."

Harry smiled affectionately. He cared about the beautiful bird, too, almost as much as he cared for Hedwig.

"That was a very good thing you did, Harry. Mashk is feared by many of the Wizarding World, mostly due to ignorance. To be concerned for her life isn't what most would've felt in this situation." The old wizard smiled kindly.

Harry ducked his head a little, not knowing how to properly react to unexpected praise, especially for something that was so ridiculously indubitable such as doing everything in your power to safe a life. How rarely was he able to do anything of significance due to his dreams, anyway?

"I should go back to bed, sir," he said quietly, but stayed rooted on the spot, unwilling to display rudeness by simply leaving without having been dismissed first.

"Wait, Harry," Dumbledore said. His blue eyes met emerald ones. "How are you?"

Harry pondered the question for a moment. He thought of the DC lesson last evening, his talk with Snape, the lack of horror he usually was forced to face at night and for the first time in a long while, he was able to answer truthfully.

"Good, sir," he was unable to contain a smile which was returned by the old man.

"That's good, Harry," the blue eyes sparkled. For a moment he managed to remain silent before he said, "Forgive an old man's curiosity, but…"

"Why?" The underage wizard couldn't help but smile, "I just happened to have a really good day, yesterday, sir. Forgive my curiosity, but why are you still awake at 4:30 this morning?" While he asked his question he observed the man before him. Dumbledore looked about as tired as Harry felt more often than not, for once looking about the amount of years he counted. It pained Harry to see the man, whom he'd come to view as more than a mere professor, so deprived of what belonged to the very basics of life.

The wise man's smile didn't waver, but he suddenly looked practically dead on his feet. It was strange to see the powerful wizard so exhausted.

"I tried to find further information on the _Indicendi_, but I remained unsuccessful." His tone was the closest Harry would have ever been able to describe as wistful.

"You should go to sleep, Professor. At some point, it's better to let go for the moment. That doesn't mean you've given up, just that you regain energy to fight another day." He knew how very hypocritical that statement was, but unlike the headmaster he'd gained some sleep tonight. In fact, he'd slept for six and a half hours, which was by far longer than what he'd slept in weeks. Dumbledore, on the other hand, hadn't slept at all.

"I will follow your advice, Harry," the older man said benignly, "As long as you promise me to try and get some rest yourself."

He promised, but couldn't even think of going back to sleep. He'd had a good night; he didn't want to risk seeing anything else. So, when he returned to the Common Room (once again without bumping into anyone), instead of going back to sleep, he got his stuff in order to study and, for he had promised after all, relaxed.

He did so by using Moraku's breathing lessons. By now, he was able to stand comfortably without having to shift his position too much. It still took some time, but not as much.

He'd found it extraordinarily relaxing, especially after a difficult night.

Today (whether because he was more relaxed than usual or because he actually understood the basics), it was a lot easier to breathe. It merely took him a few moments to _shift_ his mind while focusing on his shields.

That was the strangest thing: when he performed this technique, the breathing, even his heartbeat, became a part of his mind. He heard them, could even change both through his will. As soon as he _added_ the felt freedom to his shields he was more aware of his surroundings although his eyes were closed.

Unlike every other part of his shields, he had to add the breathing and his heartbeat every day anew. It was pretty much looking within yourself, to recognize your mood and to accept it for what it was. It took some time, but what followed was relaxation… For him, whose worries sometimes threatened to drown him, it was a moment of bliss.

It was comparable to all those times he sought peace within his shields, but this technique allowed his body to relax along with the heart.

Never mind it didn't last, it gave him strength.

So, he stood there taking in the Gryffindor Common Room with its tables, and chairs, the fireplace. Then, to his great surprise, he felt something move not too far away, nearby the stairs that led to the dormitories.

His eyes snapped open, wand at the ready while he turned around. To his surprise, there was a house-elf (whose name he didn't know) in the room. It (he was unsure what gender for it wore a simple apron) was slightly smaller than Winkey or Dobby and the bat-like ears were a little larger, as were the eyes. However, the nose was broader and not as long.

He hadn't even noticed it coming into the room.

"Good morning," he said quietly and the elf practically jumped. Enormous grey eyes widened a fraction and the creature drew back.

"Musts no be seen," she (Harry was sure of the gender now) whispered, obviously panicked, "How could he has seen me?"

"I'm sorry," the Boy Who Lived said immediately. He hadn't meant to insult her by seeing her. The house-elf obviously took care of the Gryffindor tower and preferred not to be recognized by its inhabitants. "I didn't mean… Are you here a lot?"

The widened eyes grew even bigger. Obviously terrified, she started to shiver and hid behind a pillar next to the staircase. She continued whispering frantically, "Not seen, do not be seen! Musts go, go away, Sraki, goes!"

"Sraki, is that your name?" The house-elf flinched and Harry felt a little desperate. He didn't want to panic her. "I can leave if you want me to. I didn't want to interrupt your work."

"Musts not be seen," Sraki merely murmured, her upper body moved rhythmically back and forth. Feeling a little panicked himself Harry called the only name he thought would be able to help: "Dobby!"

His friend appeared at his side, immediately. He beamed at him. "Good morning, Harry Potter. What can Dobby do?"

"I don't know. I saw her and she panicked. I'm trying to calm her down, but I can't," Harry started to explain nervously. He didn't know what he'd done wrong. Dobby's gaze fell on the elf and his large eyes widened not unlike Sraki's.

"You sees Sraki, Harry Potter?" Astonishment, pure and simply, could be heard in the house-elf's high voice, "You sees her?"

"I know I'm not supposed to," the underage wizard said earnestly, "She already told me that, but…"

"Dobby knew Harry Potter was powerful, he didn't knows he could actually sees." That wasn't something you heard every day. His confusion must have been evident for the Malfoys' former servant explained without being asked to do so, "Sraki is _Shabi_, Harry Potter, sir. Bound to place, not family. Her family serve Hogwarts since first brick is placed. They is not supposed to be seen by inhabitants."

It was interesting, although looking at the terrified elf made him angry enough to support Hermione's S.P.E.W. whole-heartedly. He felt a pang of guilt when he realized that he'd never bothered to ask Dobby (whom he counted among his friends) whether house-elves had their very own social structure or if it had been ripped apart when Wizard Community had started to enslave them. He knew logically that he couldn't do anything about it, not additionally to everything else, but he would encourage Hermione and, should he happen to survive, maybe one day, he would actually be able to do something about it as well.

He looked at the trembling female elf and felt horrible for having scared her. "I'm sorry."

Dobby regarded him with a look Harry had never seen from the elf before: his gaze softened and he smiled. "Harry Potter is not being bad, sir. He did everything right. He sees Sraki, that shows he knows how to sees."

He turned around and walked towards the terrified house-elf. He looked solemn, very unlike the Dobby Harry knew and they seemed to be having a conversation without words. The female elf relaxed and hesitantly came forward. She avoided eye contact, but at least the shivering had stopped.

"Sraki, is me name," she whispered.

"Nice to meet you," Harry replied just as quietly. He hadn't noticed he'd kneeled down, "My name's Harry."

"Dobby says Harry Potter befriends house-elves." Still, she didn't look at him, but there was curiosity in her tone.

"I'd like to be your friend, yes."

She closed her eyes and her ears perked as if listening to something neither him nor Dobby could hear.

"The Lady cares for Harry Potter. She cares for them all, but She loves him in particular. He driving her _trini_, he is."

Harry looked puzzled at Dobby, who couldn't do much but lift his shoulders: "We is not talking to _Shabi_ much, Harry Potter, sir. They is for themselves."

"And _we_ are…?"

"Elves who serves people, the _Shkani_," he explained looking full of enthusiasm.

"Then why are you called house-elves if you…" He was lost for words. This was confusing and he wondered if Hermione knew.

"Wizards is not differing. _Shabi_ is older than _Shkani_. They were called by house's magic and they has bound to them, the way the _Sarubi_, house-elves' ancestors, were bound to forest, water and stone. Wizard is seeing how elves is doting to what asks them to and bound them to theirs magic and so the _Shkani_ lived. _Sarubi,_ the golden-eyed ones_,_ disappeared and are no longer seen." Dobby didn't say it, but Harry was quite sure who'd made them disappear and burning anger towards the ignorance of men coursed through him. Then he saw Dobby's ears fall in sorrow. He gulped and carefully embraced the small being in front of him thereby letting his shields wrap around his friend's heart. He was glad to notice that it worked as well as it worked with humans.

When he drew back his arms and looked at Dobby he noticed that the house-elf (the _Shkani, _the people-elf) looked as if a very dream had just come true. The large, green eyes moistened when they looked into emerald, but for once he was unable to speak.

Meanwhile, Skrani had approached the Boy Who Lived looking at him intently, then said rather sternly, "Harry Potter is not sleeping enough, Skrani knows. Is come down every night before sunrise. That is not good. Harry Potter is child, musts have rest."

Harry didn't know what to answer to that, which was why he simply nodded. He wondered how many times he'd overlooked the elf when he'd come down to study.

"Skrani musts continue and Harry Potter musts stop to see for now. Skrani will come again."

"I don't know how I could see you in the first place, Skrani," the underage wizard replied feeling utterly at loss. Maybe, he should have gone back to bed. Voldemort wasn't as confusing, at least.

"Closes his eyes and stops to see."

Well, yes, normally when you closed your eyes you stopped seeing, but as soon as you opened them again… Anyway, he decided to follow the advice and did as he was told.

To his great surprise, Skrani was gone when he opened them again.

"Dobby musts start preparing breakfast, too, Harry Potter," the tiny elf looked at little shaken, but it seemed as if he'd regained control over himself, "Have a nice day, Harry Potter, sir."

"Dobby, thank you. I'm sorry for having interrupted your work," he replied sincerely, but Dobby smiled widely. "Nothing to thanks, Harry Potter. You may call Dobby whenever you wants."

With a loud crack, Dobby was gone.

Completely mystified, Harry sat down at his usual table. Nights like this weren't often seen and compared to the horror he was usually forced to face it was a rather good one. However, he could do with a little less confusion.

It took him a while before he regained enough focus to read _Of Wards and Shields_, a book written by Carl Clipeus. Of all his defence books it was the one he hadn't had the opportunity to read just yet. He'd read certain chapters for it was also the book where he'd found the _Contego_ spell, however he hadn't yet read the second part of the book, which spoke of wards.

It didn't take him long to see the difference to shields. Wards took preparation and they were meant to last a long time. Sometimes, you were even supposed to brew a potion. It was clear that wards, in direct combat, wouldn't help much, but they could protect what you cared about when you weren't around.

'Carbon' immediately caught his eye and he started to read more closely.

_A Circle of Protection drawn with coal are said to be the first wards. Carbon's cleansing effects were activated by using a difficult ritual performed by shamans (wizards who'd used magic openly in front of non-magical people, more commonly known as Muggles), who spoke complex incantations rhythmically. _

_Reconstruction of those ancient spells showed that merely speaking the words didn't have any protective effects at all, which was why Charles Diffidel, who'd researched on South American shamans for twenty years, mentioned in _"Great Britain's Magical Journal for Obscure Sciences": "Shamans most certainly knew what they were doing when it came to healing charms. However, their wards were pure charlatanism."

_Latest research has proven however that the protection wards had worked very well, but only if the ritual is performed correctly. That is not only the correct incantation and its pronunciation and rhythmical changes, but the very movements of the shamans; their breathing and most likely even their heartbeat._

_All in all, Shaman Wards are exceedingly complex and will not be discussed further. For those who require further information, please see the paper of: _Amalia Clarina, Mastery of Charms, "Shaman's Magic – an in-depth research on coal wards"

Harry immediately wrote that down on the next blank piece of parchment he could find. Maybe, he'd just found an essential reference for his project in Potions.

Until he heard the others come down, he finished his very interesting piece of lecture.

* * *

"So, we call them house-elves, but they actually differ between two different cultures, the _Shabi _and the _Shkani_? And we call the _Shkani_ house-elves although they're bound to people and not to houses?" Hermione looked stricken. It seemed as if the library hadn't told her this, "And Merlin only knows what was done to the _Sarubi_. That's terrible! Horrifying!"

Harry nodded. He agreed with her completely. It was terrible.

"How come you actually saw her, Harry?" Ron asked. He hadn't commented on the issue, but Harry understood it somehow: Ron had grown up in a "Pureblood family," to him it was natural that house-elves were enslaved, albeit his family didn't owe one. He'd grown up with it, the same way he'd grown to believe that Voldemort's name wasn't supposed to be spoken, the same way he'd grown to think that giants were monsters altogether. And the Weasleys were moderate parents with Mr Weasley who was fascinated with Muggles and who didn't give anything for the so-called purity of blood.

He really didn't want to know what Malfoy had been taught as a child.

"No idea," he answered. "I did Moraku's breathing lessons when I suddenly noticed her presence. I think I scared her," he added as an afterthought, still not feeling comfortable with the idea.

"You were most likely the first student she'd talked to in years, Harry," Hermione countered softly, "A First Year would've scared her." She smirked, but she quickly looked thoughtful. "Those breathing exercises, what are they like for you?"

"Dunno, I almost always nearly fall asleep." At Hermione's reproachful look, Ron promptly defended himself, "Hey, he told us to practise right after we got up. I can't help but fall asleep again when I close my eyes."

Harry didn't say much, listened to what the others told: Neville thought the exercise to be very relaxing while Hermione was frustrated with them. She'd tried to look it up in the library to find out what they were doing, but she hadn't found anything.

"Maybe, you're trying too hard," Harry chimed in. Hermione looked at him flabbergasted, "Why don't focus on your breathing right after you woke up? Don't get up first to get dressed, just lie there and breathe. Perhaps, it'll help. Ron, you okay?" A moment later, he wished to have remained silent for it didn't take a genius to interpret his best friend's embarrassed facial expression. He'd probably imagined the 'don't get up first to get dressed' just a little too well. When he saw Hermione's face redden just as much, he couldn't help but laugh shaking his head a little.

His best friends were both glad when it was time to leave for DADA lessons.

Moraku told them that they'd completed the theory concerning Dementors for now. They would be practising the Patronus Charm continuously for the next couple of weeks, but since that wouldn't last longer than half an hour, they would be starting with another feat of theory today: the principles of shields, wards, counter charms and the art of repelling an attack.

Tuesdays would most likely be filled with that topic for several months unless circumstances begged to differ. They were also welcome to include their own ideas.

After they'd practised the Patronus Charm (Harry remained unsuccessful in his desperate attempt to dim his stag), the Defence teacher started the theoretical lesson by asking them the difference between wards, shields and counters, which was perfectly answered by Hermione: Counters, unlike wards or shields were only meant for specific curses and charms.

Moraku then demonstrated them all by calling forward students who were supposed to attack with any of the following spells: _Impedimenta_, _Stupefy_, _Expelliarmus_, _Furnunculus_, _Reducto _or mild curses such as _Densaugeo_ or _Serpensortia_. They could choose whichever they wanted.

He replied by either using a counter, shield or ward.

Each student was called forward and Moraku never once used a defence spell twice. Certain defence forms that had to be Japanese amazed Harry. Of course, the incantations were different such as '_Tate,'_ which worked remarkably like _Protego_, but the whole principle was different. Moraku didn't just raise his wand, focused and said the spell… He stood there, rooted on the ground. His entire body became a shield, it wasn't like _Protego_ creating a shield in front of you: Moraku _was_ the shield, his wand wasn't pointed at the attacker, he held it close to his stomach while his other hand covered his wand-hand.

The most fascinating thing was when he simply avoided Seamus' _Stupefy_ by stepping aside the way they'd practised last Friday.

That was until he said that he would start repelling, which was why they would have to think very well what spell to cast _and_ to be prepared to defend themselves. By then, there was only Harry, Ron, Hermione, Blaise and Millicent who hadn't had their turn.

Hermione came first and she casted _Impedimenta_. Harry was very happy to see how well her _Protego _worked, but what happened in between was amongst the most impressive defence techniques he'd ever seen: Moraku had stood there with his right leg slightly in front of the left, then he'd somehow _taken_ the spell and led it around his body that he turned around its axis and let go off the spell again. It was done so quickly, Harry was glad Hermione summoned her shield practically right after her attack was launched.

Moraku demonstrated similar techniques on Ron and Millicent who were both capable of avoiding to be hit by their own spells.

Then it was Blaise's turn. He casted _Reducto_, a spell that became wider the further it flew. Moraku didn't repel it and he couldn't step away. Therefore, he used _Kabe_, another protective charm.

When Blaise walked past Harry he murmured quietly, "Use _Expelliarmus_, but tell yourself it's the One I Won't Name, not your teacher or one of the DA. You're here to learn after all."

A little puzzled, Harry stepped in front of his teacher. Well, Moraku had demonstrated how good he was at defence; surely fighting off a mediocre student's Disarming Charm wouldn't throw him off balance.

He raised his wand, closed his eyes and remembered that terrifying night on the graveyard, his determination not to die… The memory filled him and he opened his eyes again casting the spell nonverbally: '_Expelliarmus!'_

Scarlet light was released from his wand as if someone had fired a gun. The older wizard's reaction was quicker than anything Harry had ever seen.

"_Hogo!"_ Moraku called, both arms shielding his body yet holding them close. A shield glistening with a silver shimmer appeared the moment the spell crashed into it. The Japanese teacher, who'd stood only a foot in front of the door, was forced against it, the wand flew out of his grasp, but he caught it with the velocity of a striking snake.

Roaring silence followed.

Moraku looked at him in wonder, not unlike the way he had last Friday. Then, he smiled. "Ten point to Gryffindor for this proficient nonverbal Disarming Charm."

He told them all to sit and had to repeat it twice for everybody was looking at Harry who wanted nothing more than to disappear. He shouldn't have done it. That had been a very stupid thing to do.

"Blimey, Harry, that was brilliant," Ron whispered when they sat down next to each other.

The rest of the lesson they discussed different shields and that fascinating principle of evading and redirecting a spell and wrote it all down. They would practise on Friday.

* * *

And the plot goes on...

Thank you, people! Your reviews were great. Please, don't stop now :-)

You should thank my beta who corrected this chapter within less than twenty-four hours, although she had to correct a chapter for my other story, Building Bridges, first.


	20. Of Reiki and Kirei, Part Two

**Chapter 12, Part Two: Of Reiki and Kirei**

Snape was about to open the classroom door when he heard muffled voices coming from the other side. He halted in order to listen.

"_Draco, you can't tell me it was shier luck. You've seen what he did_." Miss Parkinson hissed coolly, "_We've got to report this_."

Snape tensed. He knew very well whom they'd report to. However, he waited until he knew what would be reported.

"_Not necessarily. Potter could have just cheated, who knows. Apart from Professor Snape, you know very well how every teacher at this school ingratiates with him. Moraku won't be any different_," Mr Malfoy replied just as sharply, but keeping his voice low.

If the Potions Professor hadn't been intrigued by then, he certainly would be now. Something had happened during his Sixth Years' Defence lesson as it seemed. From what he'd heard, the young Gryffindor had done something that was slightly unexpected and it involved the Japanese wizard whom he still hardly knew.

"_Potter cut through his shield_," Miss Parkinson retorted scathingly, "_Moraku lost his wand and Potter didn't need to speak the _incantation!_" _Her tone was a strange mixture of admiration and disgust.

Well… That was unexpected.

And yet… It really wasn't. Lucius Malfoy had been 'kind' enough to provide him with the memory of the Dark Lord's resurrection that night on the graveyard. He'd seen Harry's Disarming Charm.

Surely, Harry would've died hadn't Priori Incantatem come into play, but the power of the spell (as well as sheer nerve to actually perform such a spell in the face of instant death) had been disconcerting. He remembered how Lucius' hairs had stood up, not simply because he was about to watch the Dark Lord kill again.

So far, Snape had tried to dismiss it, but it seemed as if the last of the Potters was powerful.

'_That is not exactly new, is it? Last year, when he entered your mind by using the simplest of protection spells, you knew it. You simply didn't want to see it.'_

How much he hated the voice of reason this instant. He'd been blind to the boy's character, but for a rational being such as himself it was unforgivable that bitterness had blinded him so much he hadn't even been able to pick up on the underage wizard's skills and intelligence.

"_It was just a scam, can't you see it? They're both Dumbledore's pets. They most likely want us to report it…"_

"_To what purpose?_" That was Mr Nott who'd decided to chime in. Hearing his voice filled the Potions Master with sadness. He knew the prize of living a double-life. He could only hope that his young Snake wouldn't have to learn that lesson for it was a painful one. At the same time he felt fierce pride. "_That wasn't a scam. You've seen them yourself. Nobody can act that well, or at least Potter cannot. Have you ever seen him trying to lie? It's pathetic. The spell he casted he meant fully and completely and not even you can deny its power or velocity for _you _stepped back."_

"_It's just…" _They had to be alone for only around his friends young Malfoy would ever display frustration, _"I just don't understand how it is he suddenly knows so much or why he suddenly grew powerful."_

"_He started to study."_

"_Nobody becomes that powerful simply by studying." _Lucius' son's tone sounded biting.

"_Let me rephrase that,"_ Mr Nott replied evenly, "_He realized that the only chance for himself and more importantly his friends to survive is to get it together and to finally give it an effort." _It was terrifyingly accurate leaving Slytherin's Head of House to wonder whether he'd underestimated yet another student, not in intelligence (he'd always been aware of that) but in perception. It was becoming a bad habit.

"_Hush!_" Miss Parkinson hissed and only seconds later other voices were heard.

"_Here he comes, Ladies and Gentleman… Harry Potter!"_ Malfoy sneered loudly, nothing in his voice indicated his true feelings of the incident, "_Very impressive, indeed, Potter! But you and I both know that there are wizards out there who are more powerful that you'll ever be."_ The phrasing was carefully spoken and cunning for it didn't take a genius to deduct whom he was talking about. The situation was dangerous and since Snape had no intention of having a fight in the corridors (not anymore, not today, not these days), he opened the classroom door abruptly.

His eyes immediately surveyed the entire situation.

Miss Granger's and Mr Zabini's hands were in there pockets looking furious, obviously on the verge of drawing their wands. Miss Midgen and Miss Boot both looked angry but neither of them looked as if they were ready to attack. On the other hand there was Miss Parkinson facing Harry's best friend and Mr Nott had quietly drawn back looking at each potential threat. Mr Malfoy had only eyes for Harry, whose wrist was slightly bent but he looked rather defensive, as he was ready to block a curse but not attack for himself.

"Is there a problem?" Snape asked softly, it was at that moment, when half of the students flinched, that he realized just how intense the situation had been. They hadn't even heard him leave the classroom.

"Potter threatened to attack us, sir," Mr Malfoy lied smoothly, "We were just protecting ourselves."

'_Thank you very much, young Mr Malfoy_,' Snape thought to himself suppressing a triumphant grin. It would give him the excuse he needed to have another Occlumency lesson this week.

"Is that so, Mr Malfoy?" The Potions Master sneered faintly, "Well, well, Potter. In case you haven't noticed, not even the _Chosen One_ can do as he pleases within this castle. Detention, today at six o'clock."

"No, sir!" To his great surprise, Mr Zabini had stepped forward, "He did noth…"

But he was interrupted by Harry who'd grabbed his shoulder and whispered, "Don't. He's your Head and he can make your life hell if he chooses to. So, just don't."

Snape heard the murmured words and was a bit taken aback by the loathing tone they had been spoken with. He looked straight into the boy's eyes and recognized nothing but anger.

Surely, the foolish boy hadn't taken his words to heart? Yes, he hadn't apologized outright, however Lily's son had certainly understood the hint. He'd smiled even, yesterday. For a moment he was tempted to use Occlumency in order to find out what was going on before he remembered what the boy had been able to do when he'd prepared himself for an attack or probing. He certainly didn't want to know what he would do if he acted through shier reflex, not in front of his students. Besides, his musings were particularly dangerous, especially near his three spying little Snakes.

He told them briskly to get inside, observing Harry closely. He didn't miss Mr Malfoy's sneer directed towards his great rival, Miss Granger, and Mr Zabini.

It disgusted him.

Today's Potions lesson was particularly interesting for Mr Malfoy, Miss Parkinson and to his great surprise Miss Granger had proclaimed that they would do experiments during the lesson. It was the reason he decided not to look at the weekly reports concerning his students' projects for he wanted to focus on the potentially dangerous brewing.

Before they were ready, though, he skimmed through the papers.

It was the first time he took Harry's report before anybody else's.

For the last few weeks the Potions Master had seen that Mr Potter's interest was focused on the protective power of carbon. However, today he could see that this focus had intensified for there was a working title he hadn't written before.

_Fluid Protection – How to create a lasting shield containing a carbonite component._

What he read reminded him of yesterday's talks, but the last passage he hadn't heard yet. It was about the ward magic of shamans and the controversial discussion whether or not it had been effective. He remembered Amalia Clarina's very courageous actions by contradicting Charles Diffidel's theories in her published work. Nearly seven years ago, she'd presented her paper thereby creating havoc in the world of science that had even breached the branch of Potions.

Snape had of course read the paper as soon as he got his hands on it. Diffidel was a respected scientist who'd specialized on Ancient South American Magic with focus on shamans and was widely respected worldwide. He'd received a Mastery in Magical History and Field Science and was corresponding constantly with the few true shamans that were left these days. He'd found out many of the old secrets and to read his work was fascinating. He was also a very critical man, which was important but could also be a limiting factor in science, especially research.

On the other side of the discussion was Amalia Clarina, who had done her research as a mere apprentice under the wings of Nicolai Pedrow, a famous Russian historian. She had no credentials on her own, but thanks to Pedrow's influence she had been able to publish her rather controversial theory.

Ever since the publication, Amalia Clarina had been forced to constantly defend her own scientific work while hardly anybody had dared to criticise Diffidel's opinion. By what Snape read from Harry's report though, was that someone had mentioned her paper seemingly in a positive way and was about to write a note asking the underage wizard where he had found that when he saw that it was already written down.

_Of Wards and Shields _by Carl Clipeus.

Interesting. He would have to read the book himself for it seemed to be intriguing.

He wondered if some of Amalia Clarina's information would actually help Harry's project. He very much hoped so for he'd always thought her hypotheses to be sophisticated and interesting. He'd never decided to research on the topic though for the work had been published at a time he'd been working on a better version of Wolfsbane.

Before he was able to ponder on the idea, he noticed that Miss Granger was ready and his focus had to be elsewhere.

Miss Granger's experiment was well-prepared and very basic, but it was a good one to start with if you tried to find alterations of the Polyjuice Potions…

Leeches were known to exhilarate a potion's flow which was necessary to allow transfiguration, however it also inhibited transformation to anything else but humanoid forms since the drinker was human as well. In her experiment she tested how many leeches were necessary to keep the necessary flow.

It didn't take her long to find out that she couldn't renounce a single leech without using a proper substitute. By the end of today's lesson she'd find out that Dicoumarol, a substance created when mould attacked a certain species of clover, had a similar effect concerning the potion's flow but without the inhibiting effect. The idea had come to her when Miss Boot had opened her package she'd received from her mother and exclaimed that she wasn't able to use half of the clover due to the infection with fungi. It only spoke for Miss Granger's vast knowledge to have recognized its potential.

Next step would be to find out whether or not Dicoumarol interacted with any other ingredient (Snape knew that the effect of Boomslang mixed with mould wasn't very promising) and how many leeches she was able to forsake for it.

At the same time there had been Miss Parkinson, who brewed her first potion in the course of her project. It was a known brewing that was poured over a cloak which became an Invisibility Cloak (though never as powerful as the one Snape knew was in Harry's possession now). The problem was that a simple _Manifesta _ward or charm would undo the potion's effect. It was her goal now to avoid that.

Mr Malfoy's experimental study continued after he'd spent some weeks working on it. He was a sophisticated brewer who wasn't afraid to try new things, but he wasn't as exceptional as the Potions professor's flattering would indicate. However, he did have good ideas.

All in all, it had been a very interesting morning, but whenever Snape had some time to himself he couldn't help but dread tonight's 'detention.'

What if Harry hadn't realized his intentions? What if he thought that it was mere punishment instead of the only opportunity for them both to be more honest with each other?

Yesterday's revelation concerning the toad's actions had arisen feelings other than pure hatred and anger towards the sorry excuse of a teacher within the Potions Master…

He had promised to protect the child, had sworn to protect him and apart from the times he had failed so royally (for the boy had been in deadly danger more times than he dared to count), he'd always praised himself to protect Lily's son (while torturing James', never matter it was the same child). He'd only realized yesterday that, had he been just a little bit kinder, Harry might have come to him for help.

Then maybe, there wouldn't have been the need of yet another scar on the child's body.

And that thought was painful, even for one whose heart had been numb for a very long time.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Fawkes was, as always, already sitting in his office before Harry arrived.

Snape was inexplicably nervous. He'd been outwardly as cool as ever, however inside there had been raging a storm. The wise phoenix of course noticed his state of mind for, not unlike once before, he sang a calming song which halted abruptly when a silent knock was heard.

Harry scowled when he entered, but as soon as he closed the door behind him, his expression changed to that of concern.

"Good evening, sir. Did something happen?"

Snape couldn't help but feel taken aback. "Pardon me, Mr Potter?"

"I didn't expect a lesson tonight since you asked me to come here yesterday and you said that we wouldn't be practising Occlumency before next week. Until this morning. Which is why I thought you might have some information on Mashk that Professor Dumbledore asked you to share with me, sir," the boy answered calmly.

Mashk? The Great Giantess of the Tanruk clan? The headmaster had mentioned this morning that he'd warned her, but had been unable to say whether his warning had arrived in time.

Harry had most likely been able to see the danger and had told the headmaster. It was the only explanation he considered logical concerning the boy's stream of thought.

Instead of commenting it, he asked, "What precisely made you think that this wasn't detention?"

The answer astounded him.

"Because I didn't do anything wrong and it's a perfect distraction for everybody else." For a moment, there was confidence, but it crumbled when Snape wasn't able to do anything else but stare, "This isn't detention, is it, sir?"

"It isn't, Mr Potter. You deducted correctly. I wasn't sure whether you had understood my intentions, thus my question." He couldn't very well tell the boy that the hostile facial expression had caused him to fret. Hypocrisy wasn't a strong enough word for what he'd been thinking today. He briefly wondered for how long Lily's son had speculated about the cause of his hostility.

"So…" Harry started hesitating slightly, "What… er… Have you seen in my report what I've found this morning?"

"You mean Amalia Clarina's report on Shaman Magic? Yes, I've noticed. It does have potential and you should pursue the idea, in my opinion."

Harry smiled carefully at the hidden praise.

"I've heard you had an interesting Defence lesson this morning," he stated. He had planned on asking Aikokyiushin, but hadn't seen the man at lunch for he'd eaten in his office in order to read his Sixth Years' project reports, which had been very interesting.

He'd expected to see embarrassment, silent pride, even smugness on the boy's face. What he hadn't thought of was that Harry's demeanour would turn dark.

"It was a very stupid thing to do," the Boy Who Lived murmured, "I shouldn't have done it."

"Why not, Mr Potter?" he could think of a few reasons, but he wanted to hear the answer from him.

"If _he_ doesn't know today, _he_ will tomorrow night. _He_ mustn't know what spells I'm good at. Not that the Disarming Charm will help facing the Unforgivables or Unspeakables, but still… It was stupid."

He completely agreed and yet… "I seriously doubt the Dark Lord isn't already aware of this particular spell's power when casted by you, Mr Potter."

Surprised, the teenager looked up. "Did Professor Dumbledore tell you, sir?"

"A dozen Death Eaters have watched what happened that night, you may imagine that someone provided me with the memory," he spoke evenly, almost coldly. That the events on the graveyard had shaken him merely by watching them at a time he still hadn't been able to exchange one word with the sixteen-year-old without loathing him, he decided to ignore.

"Lovely night, wasn't it?" The emerald eyes were clouded. He might be in the dungeons physically, but his mind was miles and miles away, on the graveyard of Little Hangleton. He suddenly snapped back, looking strangely at his Potions professor, "Thank you, sir."

"You lost me, Mr Potter," Snape promptly replied. He had no idea how the boy's mind could have jumped so quickly from the Dark Lord to a traumatizing event to gratitude towards the man who'd treated him abdominally for the last five years.

"Voldemort…" Snape glared, unconsciously grabbing his left arm that twitched slightly whenever the Dark Lord was called by his name. "Sorry, _he _asked whether I'd ever duelled before. Do you remember the Duelling Club in my second year, sir?" As if he could ever forget the walking disaster that was Gilderoy Lockhart. "I remembered it that night. You've showed us a single spell that day which therefore was the only one that came to mind when he asked me to duel him. You saved my life, sir… Again. Thank you and thanks for what you did at my first Quidditch game."

He was stunned. He couldn't think of anything to say but, "You're welcome, Mr Potter." Snape wondered whether the boy's friends were surprised on a regular basis as well or that feeling of talking to a Filibuster's Firecracker would subside in time.

They were silent for a moment before Snape asked a question that had been on his mind ever since he'd received the letters and had been able to convince himself of their honesty: "Why did you send me those letters?" He saw the boy opening his mouth and said instantly, "I'm not talking about the apology itself. Sudden decisions demand sudden cause. So, I should be asking another question… What happened?"

The boy looked away, silent. Although he very much desired to know, the Potions Master decided to be patient.

"I blamed you for Sirius' death," he spoke in barely audible whisper, "I very soon realized that it wasn't your fault. Then the dreams started and you … your Occlumency shields just helped me so much and I saw your adverse feelings when it came to torturing women and children. I knew I had to apologize… Tell you that I didn't mean it." He shouldn't have asked. Listening to this was painful, simply because though he wasn't saying anything but the truth, it was _wrong_. For who would blame the boy for distrusting him? He'd been nothing but hostile, worse even when it came to Black. Of course, he'd think that his father's nemesis at school would encourage his godfather's death. "Then, one night, about a week after school started, you were summoned and _he _inquired after your opinion of me and you said…"

Snape remembered what he'd said; he could remember it very well…

"'He has no extraordinary talent at all. He has fought his way out of a number of tight corners by a simple combination of sheer luck and more talented friends. He is mediocre to the last degree… After the arrogant display he showed last year, the rebellion he started with his friends as well as the utter lack of propriety during those private remedial potions lessons, lowered what little opinion I might have had of him to a point not even his late father and godfather had managed to reach. They at least only risked their enemies' lives but never the well-being of their friends.'"

… He hadn't expected Harry being able to recite it.

"I can't change what I did, but at least I could apologize for some of the mistakes I made." The teenager still avoided his teacher's gaze, therefore couldn't see a rather unusual reaction coming from the usually cool and powerful Occlumence.

He gaped.

Very soon, his gaze became one of sympathy. His right hand twitched as if it wanted to be laid on the young wizard's shoulder, but he refrained from actually allowing it to happen.

"Mr Potter." The boy flinched slightly and the former Death Eater wasn't sure whether he had his attention, which was why he changed tactics, "Harry." Emerald eyes whirled around and met black ones. Snape spoke rather softly for he understood Harry's state of mind better than most people would in this situation. Harry Potter felt guilty, plain and simple, "Your godfather's death was not your fault." The green eyes shone brightly as if tears filled them, but their owner wouldn't let them fall. The slight, almost imperceptible shake of the head demonstrated that his words had no effect on the boy's opinion.

"The Dark Lord… His power is more than just frightening. You know what he's capable of. Nobody could expect from you to fight him off, not in a branch of magic that needs years of practice to become worthwhile." _'And yet all it took you was a summer.'_ "He was ableto fool you, yes, but it's very easy to fall for his words. So very easy…" He thought of the night he'd been branded and was quite sure that his eyes looked haunted. "It was not your fault."

"I could've given it more of an effort," Harry contradicted, the tears still wouldn't fall.

"So could I have, Harry. But I didn't. Instead I thought an old feud to be more important than war itself. Do not take the blame for everything going wrong last year."

Emerald seemed to be flickering in a pool of tears, but again they didn't fall. Harry swallowed heavily and Snape knew that his words had been heard but not accepted, not just yet. He would have to repeat it, again and again, until the underage wizard would accept that he wasn't at fault.

"Was my performance convincing today, Professor?" The boy's mind could jump like a Nundu charging its prey, however in this case he clearly wanted to evade the current topic. He'd used an excellent tactic, though.

"Pardon me, Mr Potter?"

"Yesterday, didn't you say something about keeping up appearances, sir? Well, I have to do that, too. We're supposed to hate each other and therefore I have to get angry when you punish me unfairly, sir. But I'm a horrible actor… So, was I convincing enough?"

'_No, you foolish child! I merely spent the entire day wondering whether or not we've once again communicated erroneously yesterday…'_ He almost said it, but his feelings were a strange mixture of exasperation and relief. Strangely, the emotional mayhem almost made him laugh.

"I daresay it was, Mr Potter."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Harry was usually so tired; he never had much trouble falling a sleep. The staying asleep part was another matter.

He'd only struggled twice: when he'd first created his shields and when the fear of the Fifth Curse had been much more paralyzing than it was now.

This evening, he struggled for different reasons…

Snape.

He didn't understand the man.

Yesterday, he'd made the impression as if he didn't hate him. Today, he'd called him by his first name and had said that Sirius' death wasn't Harry's fault, had partly blamed himself, instead.

What was the meaning of this? Harry understood the principles of his teacher's Occlumency shields: they were built upon the idea not to feel, which was the exact opposite of how Harry protected his mind and was most likely the reason why he was unable to deduct the Potions Master's feelings. He could enter his mind only under the condition that he picked up on said emotions.

Last year, it had been their mutual anger that had allowed Harry to enter Snape's mind. He knew that now. They'd both been angry and that had ultimately led to Harry's mind being sucked into the older man's.

This year, it was slightly different.

Harry would have his difficulties entering Snape's mind as long as he was cool and collected (unlike the minds of those he helped for they were distressed). However, when the Potions professor entered _his _mind, the man was close to _his_ heart and his shields sort of intermingled with the ones of the more experienced Occlumence. Thus, he had been able to lock him up by influencing the 'intruder's' feelings.

It was a dangerous game. Harry was quite sure that Voldemort did actively what Harry only did when he was protecting himself. They had completely different methods, but hadn't Tom Marvolo Riddle said that he'd been _feeding_ Ginny with parts of his very own soul?

The sixteen-year-old did his best not to control people's feelings, no matter how simple it somehow seemed. He always used his shields as comfort and protection, not as a weapon. So, it wasn't _feeding emotions_ in itself, it was more like… drowning the person. The intruder knew that the feelings weren't their own, but they were surrounded by it so intensely, they started to feel enclosed themselves or at least disoriented, _if _they entered deeply enough.

His shields were rather multi-layered, really. The Cupboard was another 'level' of his shields than Hogwarts, latter was to help, the other to enclose and throw out.

At first, Harry really hadn't known any of it, but weeks and weeks of training and constant enforcement of his shields had led to the undeniable necessity of analyzing them. Snape's questions had really helped that process.

… Back to Snape. He didn't make sense. He simply didn't. His Occlumency shields allowed him to get rid off all emotions, a fact that was probably the only way for a human being with feelings to survive what he had to do as a spy. On the other hand, he could lose his temper within the split of a second while dealing with students, especially poor souls like Neville. But again, he'd been rather kind in several Occlumency lessons this year…

When he'd said that there was nothing he could for the people who died at Voldemort's hands at night, but that he shouldn't despair over it…

When he'd promised not to talk about the Dursleys…

When he'd said that he _knew_, that he understood him after his empathic abilities had come to light. That evening he'd even partly lifted his shields and for a moment they'd understood each other. Both of their lives were controlled by Voldemort's power, both of them felt helpless and yet neither one of them were ready to give up.

And today… Today, Snape had told him that Sirius' death wasn't his fault.

He was wrong, of course. The older man didn't get the entire picture, not just yet.

But it was his, Harry's fault, he hadn't studied Occlumency, he had let himself be fooled by Voldemort ('_It is very easy to fall for his words. So very easy…'_ … No! He should've known better than that). He had rushed to the Ministry and by that forced his godfather to come for him.

Besides, didn't all the people who cared for him die, at least those who had decided to take him in? Sometimes, it seemed like a curse.

However, the man's gesture didn't go unnoticed. His behaviour tonight had been nothing but kind and, to Harry's great surprise, slightly uncertain and awkward. He'd had no idea that Snape could be uncertain or awkward.

After he'd successfully changed topic from Sirius to his acting skills, they'd discussed Miss Clarina's paper once again before he was dismissed. However, before he'd left Snape had told him to report to him immediately, should the 'Dark Lord' already know of Harry's skills with the Disarming Charm. He'd asked him how exactly he was supposed to message him for Hedwig was obviously out of question.

Snape's answer had been very strange: _"You may call for Chita, Mr Potter."_

Harry wondered who Chita was, an owl? A house-elf? No, a people-elf…The _Shabi_ certainly weren't messengers of people. What else could it be?

Who or whatever it was didn't really matter, though. Snape deducted the courier to be safe and Harry knew enough about just how careful the man with black eyes was to know that this message would arrive safely.

Should the need arise.

And that was the problem. Harry couldn't sleep, too much was going on. He was wondering so much about who Chita was; he was unable to close his eyes. It was beyond frustrating.

Not really knowing what else to do, he breathed the way Moraku had told them to (only that this time, he was laying in his bed).

In and out. In and out. In and out…

His mind started to wander and only a moment later he was facing Voldemort again, without the dark wizard knowing about it.

"So," the murderer whispered quietly. The almost snake-like man looked into the darkness of the night and, without knowing it, straight into emerald eyes. "Harry Potter's Disarming Charm promises power… I already knew this of course, however it is new that he has perfected it nonverbally, too. He will not stand a chance against the Unspeakables, but he doesn't know about those."

'_That's what you'd like to think,'_ Harry thought in a rare moment of triumph. He felt inferior to the powerful, cruel wizard on a regular basis. It was strangely good to know that he knew something his mortal enemy wasn't aware he did.

"Of course," Voldemort smiled his cruel, lipless smile, "All perfection will not help him if he freezes as he did on our last encounter." His Death Eater laughed and Harry looked away.

Yeah, there was that…

"That new Defence teacher, Moraku Aikokyushin, he's a friend of the old coot and as it seems fond of Harry Potter… It was a smart move of the other side to invite one of another country. It is difficult," it was strange how the tall monster managed to make 'difficult' sound like a merely temporary annoyance that they could get rid off within seconds, "To receive information, more difficult than it would be were he from England, or Europe, for that matter."

"My Lord," as always eager to please, Mr Parkinson chimed in. Harry wondered whether the man was actually capable of learning for judging by the numerous times Voldemort had tortured him for interruption or simply out of annoyance indicated that he wasn't. His daughter was much more cunning than that. "My daughter may acquire…" He could speak no further, but started to squirm and scream. The pain caused by Cruciatus hurt Harry as well though not as much. He didn't even flinch; the occurrence of tortured Death Eaters was so regular Harry had found a way of buffering the emotional sensation.

What worried him was the way Voldemort looked at Mr Parkinson… The last time he'd looked that way was a moment before he'd used the Fifth Curse on Bellatrix.

"No," the monster whispered, "Neither of your children would be a match for that wizard. They lack cunning, intelligence, experience and power to succeed. No, that task will fall upon my most faithful servant."

Tonight was the first time Harry felt sympathy for Bellatrix Lestrange. She truly had to be broken for she didn't even protest but merely stood apathetically next to her fellow Death Eaters, looking into space.

Voldemort noticed it, too, for he smiled cruelly. But there was that strange mixture of admiration and apprehension Harry always felt when the red-eyed wizard thought of the Darkest of the Five.

.-.-.-.-.

Shortly after, Harry was downstairs in the Common Room again. It was three in the morning and the Boy Who Lived looked around.

Sraki wasn't here.

He softly called into space, "Chita?"

With a 'crack', she arrived. She was slightly taller than Dobby and was dressed in actual clothing, which seemed as if it was made of brown and green linen yarn. But it was her eyes that caught Harry's attention for they didn't look like any eye-colour he'd ever seen. They were amber.

"Good evening," he said tentatively, "How are you?"

Amber met emerald and Harry couldn't help but smile. There was something in her eyes, a friendly glimmer that made him think of Mrs Weasley and, to his great surprise, Hogwarts as well. Although, the latter he couldn't really explain.

"Very well, Mr Potter, thank you. But dawn hasn't even come close yet. You should be asleep." Her flawless English and conduct took Harry aback. You could hear by the way she spoke, that it wasn't her first language, but it was close enough.

"I… Well…" Merlin, that elf certainly knew how disconcert you. She wondered in what way she was connected to Snape. It seemed as if they spent a lot of time in each other's company. "He asked me to call you if the other knew and he does. So, I called you."

Why was she smiling so appreciatively?

"You would've done well in Slytherin, Mr Potter." Ah, that was why. "Were you just able to control your sentiments a little better." Harry almost laughed. That lady (he couldn't think of a better expression) certainly spent a whole lot of time with Snape.

"I will pass on the message, Mr Potter, while _you_ go back to sleep."

"Can't, but I'll take it easy." He was a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake, but he doubted that any lion was crazy enough to contradict a worried mother. The look she gave him in return was very stern and once again amber looked into emerald. Chita didn't even blink and Harry blushed. "Ma'am."

That caused the elf (whether _Shabi _or _Shkrani_ he was unable to say) to laugh.

"It seems I was mistaken. Gryffindor is just the place for you, isn't it? Have a good day, Master Potter." And with a 'crack' she was gone again.

Harry stood there for several minutes wondering what the heck just happened and why in Merlin's name she'd suddenly changed from 'Mister' to 'Master.'

.-.-.-.-.-

At least, the following morning wasn't in for many surprises. They had Charms (he could have sworn that Professor Flitwick was watching him more intently than usual. Had he heard of his performance in Defence yesterday and wished to know what happened?), a free period (at least, Ron and he had for Hermione had Runes class) which they spent with a game of wizard's chess and doing some homework (in Ron's case) as well as preparing tonight's DA lesson (in Harry's case).

The surprise came in the afternoon with Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall told him that tonight's lessons wouldn't be supervised by a Head of House (Professor Sprout hadn't surveyed a single DA lesson so far) but by their new Defence teacher.

"Oh," was all Harry could say at first, "Are all the Heads occupied this evening, Professor?"

Her stern eyes narrowed a little, Harry nearly gulped in return.

"In fact, they aren't, but Professor Aikokyushin asked me whether he could supervise your lessons," she looked at him intensely, "Is there a problem, Potter?"

How come everybody called him 'Potter' when they were angry or annoyed? It was neither fair towards himself nor his father's memory.

His father had been a good man, he'd died for him! He'd been a bully at school, but seemingly had grown out of it… As much as he hated what happened that day by the lake and though he most likely would have told him off as fiercely as his mother if not more, James Potter had grown up later and become a caring father (judging from what Sirius used to tell him). Most importantly, he'd saved people. He'd never gotten anybody killed.

Unlike him.

'Potter' insulted a hero, not him.

"No, Professor. It's just… I'd feel strange teaching a Defence lesson while my teacher is merely supervising." That wasn't all. His Disarming Charm had been a stupid idea, yesterday. He didn't want anymore attention.

"Mr Potter," she said sternly but her gaze softened, "You managed to have Mr Longbottom perform a sophisticated transfiguration… I have complete faith that your teaching skills in Defence will be to Professor Aikokyushin's liking."

Harry couldn't help but smile… and blush.

Was he glad when he was finally dismissed and therefore was allowed to meet with Ron and Hermione who'd waited outside.

What was going on with his teachers these days? Snape was being kind, Professor McGonagall handed out compliments and Professor Flitwick was slowly becoming a strange combination of private teacher and 'lab partner' in one.

He liked it, but it was so different from the way they used to treat him. Well, Professor McGonagall had changed the least of them all. She'd always had those moments of showing deep emotions. But compliments still weren't released easily from her lips.

"What did she want?" Ron interrupted his musings and he told them who'd be supervising them tonight.

What truly puzzled him was that it had been Moraku who'd asked to survey them.

* * *

That was a difficult chapter (part)... I hope you like it.

I received 14 reviews for the last part... Thank you soooo much! I'm delighted. Thanks to all those who've written that they finished it in one sitting... This compliment honours me.

As always thanks for all those of you who've been writing reviews so regularly...

missme: You asked about the chapter length... It's like this: The amount of chapters is already decided. There will be 38 (including one chapter that is simply called epilogue).

Believe me if I tell you that I never thought that my story (the chapters) would end up being so long. The plot is decided, but some things I make up as I write. The Potions Projects for example was something I came to think off when I was writing chapter 3... Harry's shields, the Unspeakables and so on, that I've decided at the very beginning. Aikokyushin is the first character I invented... The 'running, ducking, hiding' comment byHarry was one of the first sentences I wrote... In this chapter (most likely Chapter 12, part three) will contain the very first sentence I wrote for this story...

Thanks to: missme, Jen, mischabren, 123-321, Infinity Limited, Dragon Soarer, Estel Ashlee Snape, B00kW0rm92, XDarklightX, Slythindorclaw Hybrrid (cool name, by the way), Hobesan, Pellegrina, angeleye68 and cara-tanaka who have reviewed!

Thanks for all those who put my story on 'story alert' or 'favorite story'.

And as always: Thank you MissGoalie75! You're amazing.


	21. Of Reiki and Kirei, Part Three

**Chapte 12, Part Three: Of Reiki and Kirei**

Harry left the library after having asked Madam Pince where he could acquire Amalia Clarina's paper for his Potions project. She'd looked at him completely puzzled, telling him that she'd never heard of that author in her life. When he'd told her that she was a scientist who'd published this paper, Madam Pince had said (a little derisively) that he should ask the journal that published her.

Additionally, she'd told him that if no publisher had thought her work important enough to print in the form of a book, Amalia Clarina's work shouldn't be as highly valued as the work of scientists who'd written and published books. Harry had contradicted saying that her general idea fit his state of mind, but had received a look that clearly said that a _student_ neither possessed the knowledge nor the experience to make this kind of judgment. That moment, he'd burned to tell her that Snape seemed to like the idea, but for safety reasons he refrained from it. It would have stopped her rant, though.

He walked into a corridor leading to the Gryffindor tower when he had this feeling that someone wasn't far behind him.

That happened sometimes, lately… Some sort of feeling when a person arrived. The sentiment was neither positive nor negative, it was just _there_.

He turned around and was surprised to see Marcus Phillas approaching him.

"Hello," he said with, what he hoped to be, an encouraging smile. The kid stopped dead the moment he faced him.

"Wow, do you have eyes on your back, or what?" Marcus asked, seemingly impressed.

"Just paranoia," Harry replied jokingly. The younger boy's lips twitched a little, but the smile wouldn't come. His eyes displayed utter loneliness, that feeling of complete isolation, a feeling Harry hadn't quite been able to shake off ever since Sirius had gone.

'_Has been killed_,' that nasty voice tortured him, _'Because of you._'

As if he would ever forget that.

"Come on," he said to Marcus, walking ahead. They left the castle shortly after. It was a rather cold November day, but the sun shone brightly which was why they could sit by the lake without having to shiver.

Harry faced the younger kid who'd just lost his mother and remained silent. Marcus was the one hurt which was why he should be the one deciding this conversation's pace.

"This is hard…" Marcus whispered after a moment of silence, "I don't really know how to start…"

He was quiet again and shivered a bit. Though Harry knew it wasn't from the cold, he drew his wand and murmured _"Calor._" The shivers subsided rather quickly.

"Where do you keep your wand?" Marcus asked, looking a bit curious. It was clear that he wanted to distract himself from the pain. Harry pulled his cloak back to reveal the wand-holder that he carried over Dudley's old, ragged pullover.

"Like a professional…" the younger but by far taller boy started, but cut it off, whatever he'd wanted to say.

Then, Harry could see his features tighten in a pained expression. What followed was a deep sigh displaying frustration, "It's… MERLIN!" he screamed, the sound carrying over the lake, an echo of pain. Harry didn't even flinch. Somehow, he'd expected it. "IT'S NOT FAIR!" Again he screamed, anger flashing, only to curl into himself, as if someone had punched him in the gut. He moaned desperately. His next words were spoken quietly, "It's… One time I'm angry, so angry I could rip everything apart that comes near me. I blow up on my friends, my family… Merlin, even my father who's in as much pain as… Then, I break down a second later knowing she'll never hold me again…" He stopped unable to keep the tears from falling. Desperate sobs escaped the fifteen-year-old. Harry, as much as he wanted to, knew that in this case, he couldn't physically help. He wasn't as close to Marcus as he was to Neville, whom he'd been able to help by holding him. He just sat by, letting the emotions of the other boy rush over him like a hurricane. Slowly, Marcus got a hold of himself, "Then I just feel… numb. Nothing at all, as if… My body works, I can't eat, but I walk, I even talk sometimes, but it's like someone else is doing it for me. Nothing reaches me. I just want to go to bed, sleep and never wake up again," he froze when he realized what he was saying, "I mean… I don't want to die… I…"

"You just don't want to feel this kind of pain again, so you shut down," Harry answered for him and Marcus looked at him in awe.

As if being able to explain things so accurately was a feat bordering on a genius' deed.

"Does it ever lessen? The pain, I mean?" Harry's eyes moistened. He was thinking of Sirius, but Marcus was talking about the loss of a mother.

"I never knew her, Marcus," he said softly, "It's not the same, but… It hurts sometimes… There are times you'll get jealous of your friends whose families are whole and you will feel terrible about that." How many times had he been inclined to swallow envy when it came to the Weasleys? The best family he knew. He loved them all, but sometimes the wish to have this as well was overwhelming…

But he had it!

He had great, loyal friends; he was getting closer to his cousin; Mrs Weasley treated him very kindly… He had no right to complain. He'd lost every right to do that. What he had was more than he deserved, already. Anyway, this wasn't about him, this was about Marcus, "That's normal. Don't feel bad about it. I'm not telling you to talk to your friends about it. If you feel that you're ready for that… Do it, but don't do it simply because it's expected from you. Give yourself time. They'll understand…"

"No, that's exactly what they don't. They don't understand that I just want to be alone sometimes! They don't understand that I just need them to leave me alone… And when I tell them…"

"And they leave, you feel worse than ever…" Harry completed, "Tell them to see Ron and Hermione. We don't get them either, Marcus, let's be honest about that. We don't. Ron and Hermione… They do. They're my best friends and, believe me; they've gone through some rough times because of me. They'll be able to help."

"What? It's been fifteen years and you still…?"

"No," Harry said immediately, "I told you that our situations are not comparable. I lost someone else last summer. He meant a lot to me…" He cut it off. This wasn't about him.

"I can't stand the pity in their eyes," Marcus whispered, "Not my friends, just… everybody else. You're different, though. There's no pity, there's… You look as if you _know_. Those who pity me, don't."

Harry knew exactly what Marcus meant. It was one of the reasons why he kept approaching Snape. The man _knew_ what it was like to deal with Voldemort. He understood the fear to have a connection with the monster, the insufferable guilt you felt for watching but not being able to help.

They were quiet again before Marcus continued, "Nobody taunts me, at least. Unlike in your case…"

Harry, who'd just watched the giant squid showing up at the lake's surface, whirled his head around, "I'm not being taunted for being an orphan. For other things, yes, but not for having lost my parents…"

"Either you're deaf or just extremely forgiving. I…" Marcus looked away, "I taunted you for that article Skeeter wrote."

The Boy Who Lived looked at him with an amused smile. "That was a bunch of rubbish anyway…"

"I DIDN'T KNOW THAT." Harry drew back at the scream. That reaction, he'd not expected. "I didn't and I still… We were so angry, the entire house, but that didn't give us the right…" His eyes were wide and he was breathing heavily. When he calmed down, his voice dropped a little, "We were so horrible to you. We bought those badges from the Slytherins, we… Hufflepuffs are supposed to be loyal and hard-working, but we were being prats at the time!"

The emerald-eyed boy looked at his furious face, feeling confused. That was two years ago… It hadn't been fun, terrible actually for he didn't have Ron standing up for him. His Fifth Year had been worse (though he'd had Ron at his side, last year) and the first two tasks of the tournament and the mayhem it had cost were completely overshadowed by the events of the third task.

Harry had started to forget about it. They'd thought he was just looking for more fame, which was understandable. Who, in their right mind, would have believed that Voldemort had plotted the whole thing?

"Marcus, that was two years ago… Why…"

He was immediately interrupted by the grieving boy. "I said… Back then, I said… _You wanna see Mommy, Potter? Too bad, she's gone_." Tears prickled in the boy's eyes, "Maybe, if I hadn't…" Harry knew what he was trying to say and it horrified him.

"No," he said sharply, "This was NOT your fault! Do you have any idea how many people were bad-mouthing me at the time? I don't even remember your comment. It was harsh, yes, but it must have been amongst the acceptable ones for, believe me, I'd have remembered otherwise. This is not some sort of punishment! This is war. It hurts and it's meaningless, but it's the way it is." He hadn't noticed that he had stood up. His eyes flashed for a moment revealing passion of intensity very few people had ever witnessed. "Your mother was killed by a group of people who couldn't care less about whom they hurt. Voldemort." Marcus flinched as if Harry had slapped him. "Doesn't care what you might have said one time or another. Nobody influences his decisions, nobody."

"You do…"

"Me?" Harry couldn't help it, he laughed. It was hollow and sounded horrible to his own ears, but he just couldn't keep it back. He thought of the Prophecy… and the Unspeakables, knowing exactly who was on the winning end. "I'm an inconvenience. He wants me dead, yes, but to him I'm even less than a person. I'm a symbol he wants to destroy. I'm not influencing his decisions. I'm just a target, that's all."

"I believed you were involved with Cedric's death. Last year, when you kept telling that You-Know-Who was back, I thought that his death was somehow caused by you, which was why you were telling this crazy story about _him_ coming back." It was Harry's turn to look away now. "I'm sorry about that."

"You weren't wrong," Harry replied quietly, "I didn't kill him, but if it weren't for me, he'd still be around."

History liked to repeat itself, really, three times it happened already causing the death of four people.

"You couldn't know," Marcus contradicted.

"Maybe… How's your father?" This conversation was too much directed towards him, which was why he deflected harsher than he'd originally intended.

"I… I'm not sure. We didn't really talk. My dad and I, we… are not that close. _She_ was the centre of our family, she was the mediator when we fought, the buffer if it was necessary… Now, it's just us and it's just so quiet. We don't have much to say to each other," he avoided Harry's gaze, clearly ashamed. The orphan on the other hand felt a painful twitch in his gut. He felt completely helpless. What did he know of the relationship between a father and his son? He'd had a taste of it with Sirius, but it had been brief and they'd spent a lot of time apart. He didn't know anything about the routines of home life. The Dursleys certainly hadn't been normal. The only reference he had were the Weasleys where Mr Weasley seemed to have a rather close relationship to his sons. He didn't have any other examples. Thankfully, it wasn't necessary.

"Merlin, funerals are the worst, you know?" Marcus saw Harry's expression, "You don't know? But surely, there was a funeral when that person you cared about died or wasn't there?"

Harry shook his head blinking a bit more rapidly than before, "No, we couldn't. There was… no real body and we didn't… I've never been to a funeral my entire life."

"Not even to Cedric's?" Marcus asked, furrowing his eyebrows in an apparent attempt to remember. The Boy Who Lived suppressed a flinch.

"I was at the memorial at the end of the year with Dumbledore, but the actual funeral? No. It wouldn't have felt right. Where was it held? Did many people go?" He didn't know why he asked. He simply didn't know.

"Not the actual funeral, that was very small and private amongst family, but about two weeks into the holidays, there was a big memorial service for his friends at Hogwarts. There were a lot of Hufflepuffs and many others… Ex-Minister Fudge came…" Then he froze. All of a sudden, he seemed very angry, "That manipulative lying, little bastard!" he exclaimed sharply. Harry looked at him feeling surprised and confused.

Fudge had become a disgrace after Voldemort's official return. However, he hardly ever heard derisive comments about him.

"'_We must stand together at the sight of this terrible tragedy and face those who want to destabilise everything we have worked for these last thirteen years. We must face them and say 'No! For once and for all, let us grieve! Stop this insanity!''_ That bloody bastard! He used Cedric's death for propaganda. Sprenger and Institorus! I cannot believe this…"

Harry felt a rush of fury directed at Fudge coursing through him. How could he use Cedric like this? How dare he? Cedric had been everything the Hufflepuff House stood for, he never would have consented to this.

The rage nearly consumed him; it drowned him like water and burned like fire…

All of a sudden, he had to pull his hand out of the water (he'd held it into the lake in order to distract himself a little and to relax) for the liquid surrounding his hand had reached near cooking temperature.

That was new.

He quickly looked up at Marcus, but the boy was distracted with his own anger. However, the facial expression rapidly changed. Guilt was again much more prominent.

"I believed him, you know," the tall boy confessed, not meeting Harry's eyes (if he had, he would have seen a stunned teenager who had to shake himself out of some sort of stupor), "At first, I didn't really notice it. But then, there was one of those _Daily Prophet_ articles about the way you were supposedly acting and I remember thinking '_Just let us grieve, man_.' I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Harry replied, "You didn't really know me. The _Daily Prophet_ used me as scapegoat. What were you supposed to think?"

"She would've been ashamed of me for having said those things to you, for whispering behind your back…"

That boy managed to get the better of him. Harry gulped and had to breathe before he was able to speak, "Kids can be cruel," He thought of Dudley, Piers and all those other children who had used to taunt him. He thought of the way even Seventh Years had treated a First Year who'd screwed up (and all he had wanted was helping a friend. An action that had led to lose so many points…). He cringed when he thought of his second year when people had actually believed he was the heir of Slytherin (As if had the power. He didn't even have it these days), "I under…" No, actually, he didn't. He never had. "Your mother most likely would have told you off, yes, but she never would have stopped loving you."

He remembered Mrs Weasley trying to recall her demeanour. "Actually, she'll have known. Mothers have a sixth sense when it comes to misbehaviour of their children," he smiled kindly, "Don't worry. I think, it's okay."

At moments like these, he was reminded of how utterly hopeless he was at consoling people. However, when the taller teenager smiled back tentatively, he realized that his words might have been about what he'd wanted to hear.

They were silent for a long time before Marcus spoke up again. His voice was low and next to the grief there was anger, even hatred, mingled with it.

"Dad came home seeing the Dark Mark hovering over the house," he whispered, "I don't know why they came or who did it."

But Harry did.

Marcus' mother had been a known squib. Death Eaters only knew one way to deal with that kind of shame.

Eliminate it.

The killing curse had been conjured by her own cousin who'd wanted to rid himself off the family disgrace. Voldemort had watched it, but had not spoken a single word. He'd lingered in the background enjoying what he saw.

He did that every now and then.

Just watching when the Death Eaters killed. Feelings of triumph rushing off him like waves, strangling Harry with them.

"Hey," Marcus spoke up as if thinking of something, "You have this Defence club, right? I mean the one for the older students. I was told you trained them to be a little less passive. Can I join you?"

Harry looked him straight into the eyes. He knew what the grieving teenager asked for… But he wouldn't teach anyone who just wanted to have their revenge. It wasn't his goal to train soldiers.

He wanted to make sure his friends lived! Nothing else. He wasn't interested in those who wanted a vendetta. It was best if Phillas learned this.

Now.

"Voldemort will chew you up and spit you out, no actually, he will just tell Nagini to do it," he said it so sharply, Marcus froze not even reacting to the name. "Worst thing is that your attack will amuse him so much that he won't kill you immediately," Harry continued sounding cold and indifferent, "He will play with you. He will know just exactly why you're attacking him and he'll know what to say to break you. He will break you. You will be on the ground before he casts a single spell." He'd seen an Auror shatter at the face of avenging the deaths of those he loved. He knew what Voldemort was capable of. "When you are down there sobbing, he won't just kill you, oh no, he will cast the Cruciatus curse. And when the pain consumes you and you believe that you're driving mad from the pain, he'll walk away. He won't kill you. But he'll tell Nagini to. You know who Nagini is, Marcus? It's his snake. I can talk to them, but she doesn't answer, she never does. She only answers to him, Marcus, and no one will stop her while she kills you."

When the fifteen-year-old broke into tears, Harry felt bad. Maybe, he'd been too harsh, but he wanted the boy to get what he was facing when he pledged to avenge his mother. However, he didn't want to break the underage wizard.

"What am I going to do?" Marcus choked desperately.

"You live. It'll be painful. You just want to get out of it, forget just how much you're hurting, but you won't be able to. However, once that heart-crushing pain is overcome, there will be nothing left but a dull ache. You will laugh again, smile again. One day, you'll be happy again. That's when you know it was worth it. You'll be able to do this, I know that," he spoke solemnly and quietly.

"Why do you believe I can do it?" Marcus asked, the tears started to dry on his face.

"Because you're so much stronger than _he_ is," Harry replied, laid a hand on the Hufflepuff's shoulder and smiled sadly adding in his mind the painful truth, '_Or me_.'

"I'd like to learn how to protect myself. And my dad," Marcus whispered. This time, his expression wasn't one full of hatred.

However, the wish for revenge wasn't something to overcome easily…

Harry knew that from own experience when it came to Bellatrix Lestrange who'd had to undergo the Fifth Curse including several Cruciatus curses before he'd finally felt as much as compassion that was directed at her.

"I want you to come at Mondays, first. With the kids."

"Why?" Marcus asked, seemingly puzzled and yet understanding very well.

"Because it's fun. And I could use some older kids in the DC, really. When your feelings change, I'd love to invite you to the DA," he spoke softly but firmly.

"Okay." It was a mere whisper, but as strongly as the Sixth Year had spoken before, "Can I come to you… If anything happens?"

"Anytime," Harry stated, feeling that their first conversation was over. Marcus Phillas nodded, thanked him and quickly walked back into the castle.

Harry kept sitting by the lake, deeply in thought.

He startled a little when a white-feathered owl landed beside him.

"You always know when I feel lonely, don't you, Hedwig?" he asked kindly. The owl had been the first gift he'd ever received in his life and the second friend he'd ever found.

His only companion while at the Dursleys.

At least, so far.

He remembered her look when he'd told her to bring a letter to Dudley. Without being able to talk she'd made her sentiments clear, '_Are you sure, Harry? Remember the way he's been treating you all those years.'_

According to Dudley, she'd even made a fuss before she handed out the letter. She might not be her greatest protector, but she most certainly was one of the fiercest ones.

He was caressing her feathers softly while he regarded the lake in front of him. It looked cold and quiet. The repetitive motion was relaxing…

He closed his eyes and calmed down.

Spontaneously, he added the feeling to his shields.

About half an hour later, he felt the cold getting to him and he went back to the castle, Hedwig flying beside him, drawing circles into the air.

He glanced at the great walls in front of him and smiled.

* * *

"Good evening, Professor," Harry said when approaching his Defence teacher who was waiting near the Charms classroom (Professor McGonagall had told him that Moraku would be waiting there). Hermione and Ron greeted the adult wizard as well.

"Good evening, Miss Granger. Mr Weasley. Mr Potter," he nodded at them all, "I'm afraid that I've never visited the Room of Requirement. Thank you very much for showing me the way."

And that, they did.

Luna, all the Gryffindors, Ernie, Millicent and Blaise already stood there. Usually, Harry was the first one to arrive which was why he looked at his watch. He was ten minutes early, as usual.

"Did I promise to bring a batch of cookies last time, or what is going on here?" He grinned and to his surprise noticed that the others looked a little uncomfortable (expect for Luna, but she was always rather early… or late. The dreamy witch wasn't being bothered by time). He lifted his eyebrows and looked at Seamus whom he knew would talk when he held his gaze for long enough.

Seamus was fidgeting at first, before he blurted out, "Yesterday's events just really motivated us, that's all."

Yesterday's events? It took him a while before Harry got what his friend was talking about.

The Disarming charm in Defence class.

Carefully, he glanced at Moraku who actually looked amused, which relieved Harry.

Bad enough that Voldemort was informed of it so quickly; he really didn't want to be on bad terms with yet another Defence teacher.

He walked three times past the wall that contained the hidden room thinking of what exactly he wanted. He'd planned parts of it last week, but wished for a moment to have revised his lesson when he'd heard that Moraku would come. He could experiment with Professors McGonagall and Flitwick (most likely Snape as well), but the Japanese wizard never really observed a regular DA class, never to mention when Harry was trying out new ideas.

The door appeared and they entered. It was a plain room with wooden floor, several cushions and everything necessary for mere spell casting. All in all, it looked like the DA room last year.

"Oh," Hannah Abott, who'd just entered, exclaimed, "We're learning new spells tonight."

"Not just that," Hermione said, mentioning towards a closed door, "What have you planned for today, Harry?" He said that he'd wait until everybody had arrived.

Last ones were Terry Boot and her friend Emily who'd joined the DA last week. They closed the door behind them.

"Good evening, everybody! Well, as all of you can see we're going to look at some new spells today. We'll be practising them within the first half of the lesson. After that, we'll be having another practical in tactics. It'll be different than last time… But you'll see. Now, let's begin. For all those who thought we'd be looking at _Tate_, _Kabe_ and _Hogo_, I am sorry. I think we'll be including Japanese defense styles next week." He didn't look at Moraku directly. He hardly ever talked to his teachers while giving his lesson. He wouldn't start with it now.

Zacharias snorted derisively, murmuring something about 'just afraid,' but the older student ignored it. Blaise and Ron, who stood beside the Hufflepuff, couldn't and would've spoken up, hadn't Harry's eyes started to blaze warningly. The last thing he wanted was a fight in front of the only teacher whom he didn't understand well (apart from Snape, but that was another story).

Blaise and Ron complied, but reluctantly. To his great surprise, he noticed that Neville looked pretty much ready to take Zacharias apart.

"We've been practising all the basic and some of the more advanced general shields such as _Protego_, _Deflecto_, _Defendo_ and _Contego_. Today, we are going to learn the most general of counter spells and some specific counters. First of all, what is the most basic counter? To remind you, the spells earlier mentioned are shields not counters. _Deflecto_ is a mixture of a counter and a shield. It works pretty much like a mirror. So, any ideas?"

"_Finite Incantatem_," Hermione said decidedly.

"Wait," Dean exclaimed, "I've heard of that one before…"

Zacharias looked rather incredulous at that, "Of course you have. Parents have to use that one all the time when we're little before accidental magic subsides."

The Westham United fan looked away at that, murmuring something about his parents not having known what was going on.

Harry stiffened. He couldn't and wouldn't accept demeaning comments in his class.

"Zacharias," he spoke acidly without raising his voice, "Thank you for reminding us all just how simple it is to fall for Voldemort's paroles who, by the way, never heard of _Finite_ before he started at Hogwarts for he grew up in a Muggle orphanage. I've been in the magical world for six years and I'm still being surprised with what you're _supposed to know, _but nobody really bothers to explain. Not everybody comes from magical families or actually has families in the first place. Imagine how frightening that is, to know that there's something happening to you and yet nobody is able to tell you what's going on." He turned to Dean and continued sounding a usual, "The first time I heard this spell was in the Duelling club in our second year. Professor Snape used it to stop the jinxes Malfoy and I casted on each other. I came across it again this summer while studying… It's a pity we don't learn it at school. I think I'll ask Professor Flitwick to include it into Charms class."

He then took a small step back addressing everyone, "_Finite Incantatem_ is the absolute counter charm. It entirely depends on the power and will of the caster. I didn't know that parents used it for accidental magic, but that's very interesting news. Theoretically, every curse, jinx or charm and even transfiguration could be revised with this, but of course that is not possible. However, weak curses can be stopped or at least their effect reduced when _Finite _is casted. Apart from this one, I want to introduce three specific counters. Next week, there will be others… I'm doing this because I want you to understand that there is nothing special about those spells, but they can counter half of the offensive spells we're accustomed to using." Voldemort was proficient with every single one of those counters, nonverbally even. "Today, we'll be focusing on three different counters. There's _Feritis_ as a counter to _Reducto_. _Feritis_ can be even more destructive than _Reducto_, so be careful. _Reducto_ is a good spell to move things out of the way, but its energy pulls. It tears back." He noticed that everyone looked a little puzzled. "Ginny, could you please demonstrate it on these chairs and tables?" He closed his eyes and wished for the furniture which promptly appeared at the other end of the room.

Ginny stepped forward and lifted her wand. "Wait a moment," he stopped her by laying a hand on her shoulder, "I want you all to look at direction of the blast. Okay, go ahead," he told the girl whose face had suddenly turned almost as red as her hair. Her spell blasted across the tables and chairs leaving nothing but dust behind.

The DA looked at Harry who hadn't been able to demonstrate what he wanted. What he needed, was… some sort of slow motion. The room allowed many things, but you couldn't freeze time with it.

Maybe, if he controlled the amount of power he put into the spell… He thanked Ginny and let the furniture repair itself.

"_Reducto_," he said it more than shouted it, firm but not fierce. This time, the all of them could see it.

The spell casted a wave of energy that pulled the tables and chairs back without pulverizing them. They collapsed more than exploded, actually.

'_Guess I have to thank you for once, Riddle,'_ he thought. Maybe, being forced to watch that monster act for nearly half a year had its advantage of learning quite a lot in the process. He remembered that one time when the Death Eaters and Voldemort walked away from the house whose inhabitants had been killed (Muggles, murdered for fun) and the monster had whispered the Reductor charm, causing the entire building to collide.

It had taken him three hours to find out why the house hadn't exploded (it was a riddle to him why every book said that _Reducto_ was used to blast things out of the way when it let them disintegrate).

"_Reducto_ pulls and lets the things you want out of the way collapse," he looked at Ginny, smiling a little, "To dust, if necessary. _Feritis _on the other hand pushes and its energy spreads. What follows, is explosion. This counter is very dangerous since it uses the attack. _Feritis_ literally blasts into the attacker's face because _Reducto _pulls. Don't _ever_ use this spell for fun, never! It can be fatal. I want you to know _Feritis_, so you are prepared for it, because Death Eaters know it and use it." That Auror had been so young, not even fully trained and he'd acted so foolishly. Why would he attack Voldemort with a Reductor charm? Surely, they learned that in training.

"We'll be practicing _Feritis_, but if I ever hear anyone use this as a reaction to _Reducto_… That person will be banned from the DA and they will wish that the Dementors will get them first before I do," even Ron gulped a little, "Of course, if it's either that or death, well… Just know that _Feritis_ as a counter to _Reducto_ can be deadly and it's an ugly death unless your opponent knows another spell. That spell is a response to _Feritis_ and it's the incantation I want to teach you: _Seiunges_, the Separation charm. _Feritis'_ pushing energy can be separated, so it goes past you."

He observed his friends and saw that he had their complete attention. Most of them looked wary, all of them seemed solemn.

Good.

They had to understand that some spells were dangerous, but they needed to know them if they wanted to survive.

It was crazy, really, as soon as he'd found _Feritis_ in one of his books, he'd looked it up. Reductor charm and _Feritis_ could be extremely destructive. They weren't considered Dark Magic for they weren't used this way often, but they could be.

Apart from a few shield charms and the Patronus, every spell could be dangerous with fatal consequences…

He shook his head a little in order to focus, "_Reducto_, _Feritis_ and _Seiunges_. One counters the other. They're also called Tide's Triplet: push and pull as the waves are separated by the cliff.

"Never use _Seiunges_ when _Reducto _is used, because… Let's demonstrate this. Professor? Could you please hit me with _Reducto_, a weak one, if possible?"

Moraku looked at him, for a moment he actually looked baffled. Then, he nodded.

They stood about twenty feet apart from each other. The Defence teacher silently asked for permission before he spoke the spell.

The _Reducto _was weak yet forceful enough to make the demonstration worthwhile. Harry spoke _Seingues_ and was torn several feet towards the older man before painfully hitting the ground.

He explained that this spell combination caused some sort of vacuum which didn't end well for the caster of _Seiunges_, though the consequences were hardly ever deadly.

"The third counter has nothing to do with Tide's Triplet. There is a dark spell that is called _Lacero_, which causes lacerations on the body; the skin can be completely torn if the attack is successful. There is a counter to it which is called _Contines_. _Lacero_ is a spell that most Death Eaters are capable of doing nonverbally, which is why you should know what the spell looks like. It's really hard to miss because its colour resembles the scarlet colour of the Hogwarts train. When that spell comes at you, cast _Contines_."

As always he demonstrated each spell multiple times and his peers used all of their senses trying to memorize it.

This time however, Harry didn't want them to get into pairs, but wanted them to learn each spell individually. Their 'partners' were puppets the room provided for them on Harry's request. After nearly an hour of practising the spells this way, he noticed that Hermione, Ginny and Blaise were quite proficient with them.

He told each of them to form groups but noticed that seven or eight people would be in one group. That was why he asked their supervising Professor whether he could watch them while he formed a fourth group.

Moraku declined telling him that he would form the fourth group so Harry could supervise the lesson.

The groups got together and started to practise Tide's Triplet. As Harry had told them, _Feritis _was never used as a counter of _Reducto_, but as an attack to train _Seiunges_. Hermione, Ginny, Blaise and Moraku were the ones who either attacked or defended since Harry wasn't ready to have two untrained, underage wizards (Moraku was the only one who could be called experienced, but Hermione, Ginny and Blaise had a natural feeling for the charms) practise these spells on each other.

It worked remarkably well.

Nobody in Ginny's group dared to touch her _Reducto_, causing Harry to remind her of _Feritis._

Her spell was strong, far above average, but he shuddered at the thought what Voldemort could and would do, should she attack with it.

Luna, who'd been in Ginny's group, asked Harry whether _Finite_ was a safe way to deal with _Reducto_. Theoretically, it was. But Harry'd never really tried.

At that, Moraku said that there was a Japanese form to deal with _Reducto_, but it took years to become proficient at it. Therefore, if _Finite _actually worked, it would be very beneficial.

"Mr Potter, would you mind to try? When I see it won't work, I will use my magic to protect you."

He asked for quite a lot of trust with that request. Harry caught his gaze and regarded him intently. He nodded telling Ginny to use _Reducto_ on him.

The rest of the DA stopped their training in order to watch.

"_Reducto_," Ginny shouted. Harry felt the rush of energy pulling and cried sharply, "_Finite incantatem!"_

What followed was rather strange. The energy of Ginny's spell knocked him to the ground, but its pulling power was gone. He breathed a little more heavily than usual.

Ron noticed it.

"What do you think you're doing?" He exclaimed furiously. Harry looked up in confusion, but noticed that his best friend hadn't directed the words at him but their Defence teacher, "You said you would help!"

"If the need arises, Mr Weasley," Moraku replied calmly, "There was no help necessary."

"He's on the ground," Ron hissed with gritted teeth, "I'd say that qualifies for the necessity of help, sir."

"Ron, it's…" He managed to refrain from saying 'fine' for that would have led to an explosion.

"Mr Weasley," the Defence teacher's voice didn't display any sort of anger. He seemed to approve of Ron's reaction, actually, "I appreciate your concern for your friends, but you should realize that Mr Potter fell on the ground less because of your sister's spell than because of his own. _Finite incantatem_, if strong enough, manages to eliminate the spell's power. In this case, had the incantation worked fully, Mr Potter would have fallen back since the natural reaction to being pulled is to move into the opposite direction. However, Mr Potter merely took away _Reducto's_ pulling force without tearing back, which is a remarkable feat to do. Be assured that I was ready to prevent any kind of injury."

Ron was a bit startled at the frankness of the older wizard. It took a moment before he mumbled, "I'm sorry, sir."

"Don't be, Mr Weasley."

Silence filled the room and Harry thought it was best to simply continue the lesson.

"I guess this answers your question, Luna, doesn't it?"

"Yes, I couldn't protect myself with _Finite_, but you can. Thanks for the demonstration." Harry turned bright red at his friend's candidness.

He cleared his throat before he continued, "I think that's it for today concerning new spells. Now, I'd like to spend some time with a more tactical approach. As you all know, in DC we play a lot of games. This is some sort of game, too, but its background is very serious and I doubt you'll laugh. But as long as you remember that it's not real, I think you'll deal and it might even be fun, once you've overcome the first shock."

Once again, he had his classmates' undivided attention.

"Voldemort," the entire room apart from Hermione and Moraku flinched, "He has a talent to recognize your fears, not unlike a boggart and he'll be playing with them. This room," he gestured towards the closed door, "Will give you a small taste of it. Your goal is to get outside of the anti-Apparation ward and to reach the Portkey. The ward's borders you can recognize by the white line."

He was silent for a moment. "There will be three other doors once we've entered the room. Three different scenarios created by the image of my personal memory. The scenes you'll enter belong to the most frightening moments of my life. The Room of Requirement allows me to play with the scenes, but it doesn't allow me to create animals, magical creatures or even the reflection of humans. Not unlike last time, I will be posing as Voldemort," again they flinched, "As soon as one of you enters the scenario, the rest of you will be able to watch the scenery through a window which will appear immediately. It's your choice what door you'll enter. Good luck!"

"What do we have to do with you?" Zacharias asked.

"Knock me unconscious, run away from me… Whatever you think will help you reach the Portkey. I'd be glad if you wouldn't try to seriously hurt me, though. Professor, I count on you to protect me and whoever will be entering the scene."

"I will do that, Mr Potter," Moraku said, his wand was ready in his hand.

Harry thanked him and entered the first door.

* * *

All eyes fell on Hermione as soon as the door closed, but she shook her head, "Oh no! Not this time. I want to learn, today, someone else goes first!"

Being the Gryffindor he was, Seamus entered. Immediately, a window appeared so the rest of the DA could watch. What they saw in front of them, was the Forbidden Forest. Harry was nowhere to be seen.

The Irish boy had the wand at the ready and carefully stalked through the forest. Suddenly, they saw him turn, breathing heavily. Then, he ran, straight forward without really watching where his feet carried him. His foot was caught up in a root and he fell.

A moment later, Harry stood in front of him, holding out his hand to help him up.

Game over. Not a single spell had been spoken and yet Seamus was defeated.

Head hanging down, Seamus left the room.

"That bloody tongue of his is creepy," he hissed on under his breath when the door closed behind him, "I thought he conjured a snake by _Serpensortia_, but he didn't, he just… Argh, this is frustrating. You can't help it, you just run. Next!"

Dean volunteered.

For the Muggleborns it was like watching a horror movie, the kind when you knew exactly where the murderer was, but the protagonists didn't. They started to shout telling Dean to be cautious, that Harry was _right behind him_, but the fog which suddenly appeared took away his sight.

Two minutes later, Dean was outside muttering that Harry had a rather strange idea of having fun.

Lavender, Pavarti, Padma, Terry, Emily and Eloise entered the forest as well.

Ron downright refused saying he'd faced the Forbidden Forest before and that he would never do it again unless forced. Neville and Hermione agreed, though for different reasons: Neville concurred with Ron's opinion while Hermione wanted a scenario she didn't know.

Some of them lasted longer than others, but it seemed as if they had completely forgotten what they were supposed to do, namely finding the Portkey.

Eloise, who'd entered last, was the only one who got close to the borders of the 'anti-Apparation ward,' but she'd been unable to find the Portkey before Harry found her. Unlike Pavarti, she didn't even try to fight back.

She'd merely lowered her wand.

"He'd be an excellent hunter. Thank Merlin, he's not a predator," Susan whispered when Eloise came close to the door.

To their surprise, Harry exited the forest scenery as well. As soon as the door closed, it disappeared as if it had never been there in the first place.

"Before the rest deals with the other two scenarios I want you to summarize what you learned," Harry stated, looking especially at those who had been inside.

"That it's not so easy to keep your head together when there are whispers in the dark," Lavendar said, unusually serious. She'd run straight ahead, not unlike Seamus.

"Don't let yourself be distracted by noises. Try to deduct what's dangerous and always know where it is," Dean stated.

"Don't run unless you watch the bloody ground," Seamus almost hissed.

"Good point, Seamus," Harry chimed in, "But when the enemy is behind you, believe me, you don't watch where you're running. You just run, whether it's smart or not." He looked into the round when he continued, "I gave you this exercise for a rather simple reason. Last time, it was your job to fight me, but your first goal should always be for you and the people you care about to survive. Escape has to be learned too."

He gestured at the two doors left, "I want everyone but Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Millicent and Blaise to enter the second door."

"Why?" Zacharias asked angrily.

"Because that scenario still gives me nightmares and I don't want Colin or Dennis having to face it. It was the most frightening night of my life. What happened at the Ministry might have been worse, but it didn't scare me as much. Hermione and Ron faced quite a lot of dangers over the years… Ginny, Neville and Luna have proven that they can keep their heads together when facing Death Eaters. Millicent and Blaise, I trust them to do just that." It was best to be honest with them. The second door could be viewed a game, but the third one wasn't.

Dennis looked up at his idol, looking hurt. Harry softened and kneeled down in front of the twelve-year-old, "Dennis, you are a proud and courageous Gryffindor. I know that, but you're younger than I was at the time facing that third scene. I was having nightmares for weeks. I don't want you to have them as well."

The youngest of the DA seemed to be ready to accept that. Harry smiled and entered the second door.

Colin was the first to enter.

The window appeared and they saw a room full of snakes made out of stone.

"Chamber of Secrets," Ron whispered. They all could see the white line that drew the ward's borders.

So could Colin, he quickly walked towards it, but a snake suddenly stood in his way. The short Gryffindor stopped dead in his tracks. He lifted his wand and casted _Stupefy_, but the snake was too fast. Suddenly, Colin rushed around with his wand at the ready, but by doing so, the snake launched forward.

It didn't bite, but that Colin had lost, was obvious.

The snake managed to disconcert everyone that entered the room. Harry's complete power over the snake he'd conjured was unsettling. Interestingly, it was Justin who managed to blast it out of the way, but then it was his turn to face Harry. He hesitated while the Boy Who Lived didn't.

The Disarming Charm was precise and nonverbal.

Zacharias came last. He casted _Reducto,_ thereby destroying the snake and directly approaching the Portkey. Two feet and he'd have been saved, but then it slipped past him, stopping right in front of Harry who destroyed it.

The Summoning Charm!

Seamus hit his palm against his forehead asking himself loudly why he hadn't thought of that. Theoretically, the fight was over, but Zacharias didn't think of stopping at that point. He launched an attack on Harry.

Ron cursed under his breath. He never liked it when the Captain of Hufflepuff's Quidditch team and his best friend were alone in one room.

Thankfully, Harry's duelling skills surpassed Zacharias' by length. His _Finite_ eliminated _Stupey_ and the Impediment jinx he shielded before he disarmed him.

As soon as the two of them left the second scenery, everyone started shouting at Zacharias asking him what, in Merlin's name, he'd been thinking and that he was being a prat. Harry didn't agree though.

Loudly he said, "He was doing the right thing! Yes, I told you to find the Portkey, but if that is destroyed in real life doesn't mean it's over! Why hasn't anyone tried to fight me, apart from Zacharias and half-heartedly Pavarti, that is?"

"I wouldn't last two minutes against you," Eloise murmured. Harry walked up in front of her.

"Welcome to my world," he stated softly, "I've faced _him_ four times so far… that I can remember. When I was eleven, I didn't really know what to think. It was so frightening seeing that two-faced man in front of me… But I had a goal. In this chamber," he gestured towards the solid wall that had contained a door earlier, "I had a goal as well. I wanted out of the bloody room together with Ginny and Tom," Ginny flinched at the name, "That night _he_ came back… I knew I was dead. You say you wouldn't last two minutes against you. I knew I'd die. Cedric's body," his voice started to sound hoarse, "He was proof of that. All I knew was that I wouldn't die kneeling on the ground begging for mercy. So I fought. I didn't win, by Merlin, I know I didn't. But I lived because I didn't give up and you shouldn't either. None of you should. Plans… If you have the time to make them, rarely ever work the way they should. Don't despair over it. _Live_!" He exclaimed the last part. "Without help I wouldn't be here, I know this. But that shouldn't keep you from trying to survive. Well done," he said, words directed at Zacharias who looked rather surprised.

"The last door… Good luck!"

With that, he entered.

Ron was the first who followed.

The rest saw what was behind the third room.

A graveyard.

"The night Voldemort came back," Hermione whispered, thereby ignoring the others who flinched.

Ron seemed to realize it, too.

He gripped his wand a little firmer and carefully used the stones as cover. All of a sudden, fifteen puppets appeared surrounding Ron. The puppet's cloaks were black and they were hooded. Harry's best friend knew what they represented.

Since he was overpowered, he decided not to launch an attack. A spell shot out of nowhere and the tall teenager managed to hide behind a tombstone.

Knowing what spell would be casted next, Ron rolled behind another. All were impressed by the lean wizard's velocity when he suddenly spun out of his hiding place as if something had bitten him.

A moment later, he was chained.

Harry came forward and talked to him. They couldn't see what was spoken, but Ron shook his head. Both of them looked rather amused.

When the youngest male Weasley came out, they asked him what was going on.

"Lesson number one: don't let petty phobias disturb you when you are in deadly danger," he smirked. He was angry at himself, but it had been a good lesson.

"Spiders?" Hermione asked while Millicent entered the graveyard.

"He transfigured a stone next to me into a spider. Apparently, You-Know-Who is capable of turning grass into small spiders," he whispered into his girlfriend's ear, "Don't ask me how he knows that," he continued speaking in a low voice when he saw Hermione's puzzled expression, "And I believe him. Time to overcome my fears, really."

Meanwhile, Millicent sprinted through darkness using the tombstones as hiding places. She reached the borders, but was petrified at the sight of the Dark Mark floating in front of her. A moment later, she was disarmed and had to leave.

Neville and Ginny were both acting rather level-headed, even when gravestones exploded they'd used as cover. Once again, Ginny was stopped by a snake.

Neville summoned the Portkey and it appeared, but a _Reducto_ destroyed it before it landed in the formerly shy teenager's hands. It gave him a clue where Harry was, though and he used it to his advantage by casting _Reducto _himself. Harry then seemed to use _Finite_, but he left his cover. Quietly, he spoke to the last of the Longbottoms who was too puzzled to do much.

The defeated Gryffindor left the room. Everybody looked at him in surprise.

"What do you think he would've casted?" Neville mumbled, "_Feritis. _Death Eaters would have used it… Stupid."

Luna had a rather brilliant idea. She casted her rather sophisticated Patronus in order to enlighten the graveyard. It immediately didn't seem quite as dangerous anymore. And it allowed her to see Harry. Not hesitating a moment she shouted '_Stupefy'_ at the same time as she jumped to take cover.

"_Deflecto,_" Harry spoke twisting his wand exactly towards the tombstone. It puzzled all the members of the DA. That was useless. There was no way for Harry to break stone with the Stunning spell.

It forced her to stay hidden, though. The next incantation wasn't spoken aloud and Luna couldn't see.

_Reducto_ hit the tombstone and its bits flew away from Luna, who merely stood up and smiled at Harry.

"Why did you leave," Ernie asked puzzled, when she left the graveyard.

"I lingered for too long," Luna said, her voice was dreamy, but her eyes seemed quite focused (for being Luna), "I should've kept moving, not giving him the time to burst stone."

"What?" Ernie didn't seem to understand it anymore than when he'd asked the first time.

"Think," Neville said, "What have we learned today about the Reductor charm and _Feritis_? Which spell do you think a Death Eater would've used in the same situation?"

Next was Blaise's turn.

He moved rather quickly as soon as the door closed behind him. Moving from tombstone to tombstone never lingering longer than two seconds behind the same stone. The conjured snake he destroyed with ease.

Slowly and steadily he made some distance before he silently casted the Summoning Charm. The moment he was inclined to linger behind his hiding place to get the Portkey was used by Harry to cast _Feritis_. The incantation was spoken aloud.

They saw Blaise shouting _'Seiunges_' thereby he lost the Portkey. Another second and the Portkey was destroyed.

The sixteen-year-old Slytherin wasn't impressed by that and continued avoiding Harry as if nothing had happened.

"Come on, Blaise!" Millicent muttered under her breath.

The Boy Who Lived approached Blaise who suddenly used the Banishing Charm throwing a small stone in Harry's direction forcing him to duck.

Blaise ran and was suddenly surrounded by the puppets that had encircled Ron before. Suddenly, a green jet of light flew past the 'Death Eaters' hitting Blaise.

Harry's substitute killing curse.

Blaise nodded with a smile, bowed a little and left the graveyard.

Zacharias looked extremely angry, he almost growled, but didn't speak a word.

Hermione was the last of the DA. Her moves weren't unlike Blaise's, but she used her vast knowledge of magic to trick Harry back. Her _Accio _worked until suddenly the Portkey stopped midair. Harry had his wand lifted having seemingly spoken his own Summoning Charm.

For a couple of seconds both stood there with gritted teeth trying to summon the object. Suddenly, Harry changed tactics and used the Banishing charm. Because Hermione had used far too much force, it flew right past her several feet away into the dark.

She didn't hesitate and got into hiding thereby able to evade Harry's 'killing curse.' While she jumped she summoned the Portkey, which securely landed in her hands.

Everybody from the DA started to cheer. They all ran into the training room entering the graveyard.

Harry smiled brightly, quickly walked over and embraced her. "Well done!"

Hermione beamed hugging him back.

"You should give yourself points for that," her best friend with the green eyes laughed, "That was brilliant."

"That was unfair!" Zacharias shouted angrily and all cheers subsided. Ron gritted his teeth and took a step forward, but Harry's hand held him back, "With Weasley and Zabini you summoned those puppets. That wasn't fair!"

"Fair?" Harry hoped he didn't sound quite as scathing as he felt, "This is practise in tactics. You can expect me to be fair in duelling practise (which we haven't started yet), while practising new charms or during DA training in general, but tactics? I'm trying to give you a little insight into what Voldemort does, into what Death Eaters do. I was tied upon a tombstone when I was hit first with the Cruciatus curse… Oh, scratch that! I was fourteen at the time, taunted by a sixty-year-old wizard. Is that fair? He tried to kill me when I was one-year-old. Is that fair? You better expect unfairness from me when I say we have tactics. Good thing is that I would do _anything_ trying not to hurt you. Be assured that they will try _everything_ to do just that!" He couldn't suppress a sigh. Today's practise had been emotionally and physically exhausting. They didn't know how frightened he'd been back then. "Look," his voice softened, "Next week or the week after that we'll be starting duelling practise unless something else comes up. Then you can be sure that things won't explode around you. I control these scenarios because I created them. I can make stones explode that I usually wouldn't be able to. Be assured that during duelling practise you'll be fighting me and just me. And not what I'm trying to be in tactics."

"Which is…"

"The last thing in the world I want to be."

A monster.

He wasn't good at it, but he hoped it was enough to train them.

But he had no idea how to prepare them for the Unspeakables; he didn't have the slightest clue.

"Hermione, excellent work! All of you have been great today. I'm looking forward to next week. I'm open to any kind of suggestion to improve this class…" He looked around suddenly facing Tom Riddle's tomb, "Guys, let's leave this place, okay?" He closed his eyes thinking '_All I need is a room with a lot of cushions.'_

A moment later, they were in a plain room with wooden flooring covered with cushions. Feeling tired, he sat down.

The others followed.

"Anything you want to comment? Improvements?" Zacharias opened his mouth, but the murderous look on Ron's, Blaise's and Neville's faces made him close it again.

"Just a question," Millicent chimed in, "The killing curse substitute you sent at Blaise… It hit two puppets which I assumed to stand for Death Eaters. Would _he _do that? Kill them to kill us?"

"It depends on how important your death is to him," Harry explained, "Most likely, he will give the command to one of his Death Eaters whether to kill or restrain. But Professor Dumbledore, for example? He'd sacrifice his own followers to catch him in a heartbeat. They know it, though. They have quite a sense for self-preservation, really. They know when to step away."

"How do you know all this stuff?" Emily (Terry's friend) suddenly asked.

"Doesn't matter," Ron immediately chimed in, "He isn't wrong about the things he's telling us." Ron most likely thought of the times last year when Harry had been wandering into Voldemort's mind. He had no clue about the dreams that haunted his best friend every night.

They spoke for a few minutes, mainly discussing school and very soon there was a lot of chatter and laughing, and Harry felt himself relax. It was their Defence teacher who had to remind them of the time.

Harry thanked them all for coming and wished them a good night. Hermione, Ron and Neville stayed while the others left. As soon as the door closed, Harry couldn't suppress a yawn.

Sympathetically, Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder.

"You were amazing, today. Better even than usual and that means something since you always do a great job." Suddenly the cushion in front of him looked so much more interesting, "Professor, do you want to talk to Harry alone?"

Harry had completely forgotten that their new Defence teacher was here as well and he jerked around.

"Yes, I would like that very much. You may of course wait for your friend. It won't take long."

When his friends left, he had the sudden urge to call them back. He felt like that one time after he'd turned his teacher's hair blue and had been asked to see the headmistress… Or when he'd winded up on top of his school's roof.

Professor Dumbledore never gave him this feeling of having done something wrong. Moraku on the other hand had that talent. It wasn't as if the man was scathing like Snape or as strict as Professor McGonagall, but he was incredibly collected and impossible to read.

"Hadn't Miss Granger said it herself I would've been inclined to report to your Head of House that she grossly underestimated you teaching skills, Mr Potter, and she spoke rather respectfully of them, I must say."

_What?_

"Your knowledge is vast, your fervour affects your peers and your skill is uncalled for in a sixteen-year-old," it was amazing how the man could still sound so collected while he gave such a compliment.

"My skill is not that great, sir," he said once again examining the cushion he held in his hands, "The Room of Requirement helps me a lot during those tactical trainings."

"I doubt it helps you that much, Mr Potter. Anyway, it was my pleasure supervising you tonight and I'm looking forward to seeing you on Friday. Good night, Mr Potter."

* * *

At that, Professor Aikokyushin left the room saying goodbye to Mr Potter's friends once more and walked towards his quarters.

He'd of course listened to Albus, had heard how much his old friend loved that boy, but he hadn't given his words much credit.

Albus saw a lot, but he was blind, just like everybody else when it came to the people he cared about.

It seemed as if he was right in this case, though. In fact, there was a chance that not even his old friend knew just how much potential was in the boy.

_Kirei._

Who'd have thought?

* * *

This part is very long, but my A/N will be short since I don't have much time.

I hope you had as much fun reading this DA class as I had writing it. I never would have thought that it would be this long, though.

Thank you very much for all those who reviewed. The reviews were very encouraging!

Don't stop now ;-)


	22. Of Reiki and Kirei, Part Four

**Chapter 12, Part Four: Of Reiki and Kirei**

Moraku Aikokyushin was walking down the corridors with his head still full of the lesson he'd just observed. His hand was already holding the doorknob leading to his chambers when he stopped. With a shake of his head, he turned around and pulled into the corridor to his right, which would lead him towards his old friend's quarters.

The gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office stood absolutely still when he approached. He quietly spoke the password (_"Chocolate Frogs"_) and walked up the stairs before softly knocking on the door that would lead into Albus' office.

He entered when he heard his old friend's permission. To his surprise, Severus Snape stood on the other side of Albus' desk. The tall wizard was calm and collected, or rather, his Occlumency shields were firmly in place.

Never before had he met a sane individual with a more split personality than the man who was currently holding his searching gaze.

Potions Master at nineteen.

Intelligent and cunning.

Occasionally foul-tempered, but usually collected.

Feared by his students, but a respected Head of House.

Extremely observant but blind to the things he didn't want to see.

Albus' trusted spy and somewhat adoptive son.

A Master Occlumence with cold eyes, whose heart had been broken many years ago, which still stubbornly refused to repair itself.

A rather mysterious young man.

"Moraku, what leads you to me, my friend?" Albus asked with a smile and sparkling blue eyes that looked over the spectacles. At least, he seemed to have gotten some sleep these past few days.

"_I would like to talk to you alone, Albus_," he said in Japanese causing Severus to look at him sharply.

Oh, he'd forgotten that. Severus Snape was probably the most self-controlled, natural Legilimence he'd ever met, never entering the minds of those whose shields he was unable to guess.

"_Did something happen in Harry's lesson?_" Immediate worry was visible on his trusted friend's face. His Japanese was still flawless, though he'd spent only a few months in the Reiki's home country.

Years and years ago.

"_No, but I would like to talk to you about some of the things I observed,_" he heard Severus Snape halting in his steps (when he'd started to speak in his native language, the Potions Master had started to leave without hesitation). He turned around and Aikokyushin looked into the black eyes that, for a very short moment, looked amused before the face was blank again.

"What did Potter do, this time?" The scathing tone was a contradiction to the man's amusement. When Aikokyushin searched the younger man's gaze, he looked rather bored, "There is only one student at this school capable of driving a phoenix to eat fermented fruits. No offence, Fawkes," he said to Albus' Familiar, "So, yes, what did Potter do, this time?"

"He was merely giving his Defence lesson, Professor Snape," Aikokyushin replied. Snape gave a look that clearly stated that there was nothing 'mere' in what he'd just said, "And he was excellent, Albus, even Miss Granger mentioned that he's outdone himself tonight."

All reaction he provoked from the Potions Master was a derisive snort, but his eyes seemed blank… The eyes of an Occlumence whose shields had been verified.

This wasn't honest contempt, there never had been, at least not since he walked the corridors of this castle. Nevertheless, he'd observed Mr Potter's reaction the day before yesterday. That hadn't been an act. There was a strenuous history between those two and not just since Tom Marvolo Riddle had returned to power.

Severus Snape wasn't a man you could grasp, not at first sight… Most likely, it was Albus who knew him best.

The tall wizard excused himself and took leave, obviously under the impression of intruding. Before he left, he wished them a good night.

"_How does the Room of Thousand Things work, Albus?_" the Defence teacher asked in Japanese as soon as the door closed.

"The Room of Requirement works upon the principle of what is needed. Minerva already told me how well he's come to voice what he needs," the headmaster spoke English as he always did when they were in private.

"_Conjuring puppets posing as Death Eaters, letting stones explode… All simply due to the will of the one who finds the room?_" The magical principles behind that room were fascinating… And old. So old and forgotten.

"What is it that troubles you, my friend?"

"_The spells he casts… They are his, aren't they? The room cannot strengthen them_." He needed to know. For his theory was based on that assumption.

"Yes, Moraku. What happened?"

"_He's Kirei_."

It was rare to see Albus' eyes widen and he couldn't blame him for the reaction. That kind of talent wasn't often seen, hardly ever in one so young.

"He's an Empath as well."

Oh.

Well, Harry Potter definitely was full of surprises.

* * *

Said underage wizard was walking Hogwarts' corridors alone. He'd told his friends to go ahead for he had permission by Professor McGonagall to stay late after curfew on Wednesdays, a privilege the others hadn't.

The original intention was to give him time to prepare the next lesson and to experiment with the Room of Requirement, but Harry kind of used it to enjoy the quiet of Hogwarts at night.

Days were loud, nights restless. Being allowed to be out after curfew, and if it was only one night in the week, was a gift he'd accepted gratefully.

The faint sound of boots drew closer and Harry stopped wondering who it was.

"Good evening, Professor Snape," Harry greeted. He almost smiled when he noticed that the Potions Master opened his mouth to ask what he was doing here after curfew, but refrained from doing so when realizing the date.

"Mr Potter." This caused the underage wizard to look around.

"We are alone, Mr Potter, be assured I would've acted differently if this weren't the case. Thank you for calling Chita yesterday. It's a pity, but not unexpected that the Dark Lord has already been informed of yesterday's Defence lesson." Harry only nodded at that.

No, it really wasn't unexpected.

"Sir, may I ask you a question?"

"The irony of this inquiry is that a question is already asked in order to receive permission." Even. Collected.

Harry couldn't help but smirk. If he had known that Snape had a humorous streak, it… most likely wouldn't have changed anything.

"Chita… Is she a _Shkani_ or a _Shabi_, sir?"

For a short moment, Harry was able to glimpse the Potions professor's surprise, however he misinterpreted it, "There are two different kinds of cultures amongst the creatures we commonly call 'house-elves…'"

"Actually, 'culture' would merely imply that their customs differ, however it is their magic that varies. Humans with magical abilities, wizards and witches, no matter their ethnic origin use the same form of magic, never matter that our way to perform magic may diverge from nation to nation, culture to culture or even individual to individual. _Shkani _and _Shabi _are of the same origin, but over the years their magic has developed significant differences that go beyond what any human culture has managed to perform. There is no proper expression in English or any other human tongue to name the nature of the differences between _Shakni_ and _Shabi_ for they exist on a level that we can't reach. For humans, there is only one form of magic."

"How do you know all this?" Harry was stunned.

"I could ask in return how come you know of _Shkani _and _Shabi_, Mr Potter. It is not exactly well known."

"I've met Skrani, a_ Shabi_, yesterday. She panicked when she noticed I could see her. Dobby explained things to me."

The Potions Master nodded. "'Elf bound to place not people.' At least, that is how they explained it to me when I was about your age. I literally stumbled into Skoun, one of _Shabi_'s elves bound to the dungeons. He didn't panic, but he wasn't very happy about it either. Apparently, they don't show themselves to a lot of people, some are not allowed to be seen, as it seems to have been Skrani's duty."

"Some?" Harry couldn't help it. He was fascinated and Snape had a way of stating this understanding so casually as if it was common knowledge.

"The _Shabi_ of Hogwarts form an extremely complex community, Mr Potter. I think to call the _Shabi_ of Hogwarts 'culture' may be fitting enough."

"How many people see them?"

"The headmasters are not informed of them, you see, Alb… Professor Dumbledore knows of them, but only because he bothered to find them. As for your question: I don't know the exact numbers, but Skoun mentioned that there is one every ten years that meets with one of the _Shabi_. The last he met was apparently a Slytherin orphan who'd loved the castle dearly… As far as he told me, it is only those who truly care for this place, who call it their home that would be allowed to see a _Shabi_." Something about 'Slytherin orphan' made Harry shiver. It couldn't be…

"Sir, that last person whom Skoun knew… What do you know about them?"

"He walked this castle half a century ago, apparently he'd only seen him once for Skoun felt _triserth_ in his presence… Don't ask me what that means for he couldn't translate it. He didn't learn his name, but after that first meeting he'd told the other _Shabi_ not to get near this boy whom he called…"

"Trise," Harry whispered, feeling a bit sick. Voldemort hadn't born the rejection well… Since Skoun never explained, young Tom never learned the difference of those bound to castle and those bound to people. He detested them all alike and considered the creatures weak for their lack of desire to gain power.

Snape stared at him before despair was visible on his face, though only for a moment. "I could have done without this piece of information, Mr Potter. I can draw enough parallels between the Dark Lord and myself already."

Harry snorted at that. "Welcome to the club."

Silently, they walked across Hogwarts' deserted corridors when Snape spoke again, "Chita is not an elf of the castle, she's not a _Shabi_. I freed her many years ago, after I inherited her through… Well, it's a long story, Mr Potter. As for her conduct I must tell you that she's explained herself to me but in strictest confidence…"

"Of course, sir. I didn't mean to pry. I ap…"

Suddenly, the Potions professor stood dead in his tracks and Harry broke off his apology.

"For the peace of my mind, Mr Potter, _please_, please don't ever apologize to me again for things that were not your fault, for _any _behaviour you've shown in my presence these past five years or for things that were out of your control in the first place," Snape looked pained while he spoke as if the mere thought tortured him.

"Sir?"

"I was wrong about you, Mr Potter. I prematurely judged your character and have been acting on false estimation ever since. The past cannot be undone and I shall not endeavour it. Be it as it may. I do regret my appalling behaviour these past few years and hope you will, one of these days, give me the chance to make up for it."

Harry walked into a wall ahead of him.

Literally.

He'd not been watching where he was going feeling too shocked by Snape's apologetic speech.

It must have looked quite comical – Harry Potter being rebound by his attempt to walk through a wall – for Snape smirked first (at the same time securing the stumbling teenager) before a chuckle escaped him.

The chuckle echoed in the deserted corridor. Harry merely glared at the Potions Master with his face a bit red, which only intensified the chuckle. He sobered rather quickly though, but a facial expression that suspiciously looked like a smile remained.

"They say 'Like father, like son' and something about mothers and daughters as well, but I'm afraid there are no proverbs that call upon the likeness between a mother and her son… Your mother too sometimes forgot to watch her surroundings when something startled her."

It was the way he said it that prompted Harry to ask his next question, "Did you know my mother well, sir?"

He hadn't meant to wipe away that smile of his. He really hadn't. The Potions Master looked a lot less cold with it.

"I knew her, yes, Mr Potter."

That wasn't at all satisfying and Harry was too tired to check his speech, "Do you want to know the cruellest thing about being an orphan? Everybody expects you to be grateful when they tell you about your parents and the things they used to do, never acknowledging just how painful it is, but whenever _you_ want to talk about them, they shut you out and you have to make up your own story… I was eleven when I found out that I looked remarkably alike my father and that my mother's eyes were like mine and not at all like my aunt's."

At first, there was this expression of sympathy that, were it any other person, would have made Harry cringe, though since it came from Snape, it was accepted.

Harry still was unable to say why.

When he spoke his last sentence, Snape's tone was rather derisive, "Lily Evans having Petunia's eyes? Merlin, thank you for this _not _being the case."

"You know my aunt?" He would've once again walked into a wall had they been inclined to take a turn. Snape's expression closed off initially, but then slowly unclenched his left fist.

"We used to be neighbours as children. The Evans family had a house nearby my father's. I was aware of my magical abilities rather early in life while your mother … wasn't. I told her she was a witch." Where had the sadness come from? Harry thought over Snape's last sentence and tried to lighten up the mood.

"She will have taken that one well if you said it like this."

Again, there was a deep, soft chuckle.

"She wasn't particularly fond of that revelation, I admit," black eyes looked into memory. Harry didn't want him to stop speaking. He knew so little of his mother having received much more information about his dad. When it came to the Potters, he felt like a sponge that sucked in any kind of information he could gain.

"You told her of the magical world, sir?"

"Everything she'd ask me and more… I distinctly remember her asking about Azkaban. It scared her, she was deeply afraid of being arrested, never to feel happiness again… What is it, Mr Potter?"

"She was… We really need a proverb to express the likeness between mother and son, sir, for I understand her fears. I was afraid they'd arrest me in my third year, when I blew up my aunt," Harry explained, tensing a bit for he really didn't want to know Snape's opinion of his loss of control three years ago.

"A not unfounded fear in your case for last year proved just how far the Ministry is ready to go occasionally…" Once again, he looked into memory, "She also asked me about the significance of blood purity. I told her it didn't matter." The latter was added as an afterthought.

"You lied to her consciously or didn't it matter to you?" Eyes that looked far too wise to belong to a sixteen-year-old looked into black orbs. All of a sudden, their owner turned away.

"I'm not expecting you to understand, Mr Potter. I'm a halfblood, my father loved my mother up until the moment he'd learned of her heritage. After…" Harry could see the tall man's head shake, "My world resolved around a witch and a Muggle. It doesn't take a genius to understand whom I thought to be superior. It took many years to see just how wrong my views of the world were."

"You called Mum a…" Harry started, but was immediately silenced by the icy expression on the former Death Eater's face.

"_Don't_ say the word. Don't. It ruined the one friendship that meant everything to me."

Again, there was this deep sadness in the Potions Master's face.

"She'd be very proud of you," Harry blurted out in an attempt to remove the grief. If his mother was anything like him, she'd be very happy to see her friend's rehabilitation, "What you do these days… She'd be very proud of you."

He didn't know what else to say and was therefore very glad when he noticed that they'd reached the one corridor that would lead directly to the Fat Lady's Portrait. Before he could wish his teacher goodnight though, Snape beat him to it and walked away. He got as far as two steps before he turned back to his pupil, "Thank you, Mr Potter. Your mother would be very proud of you, too." As he turned his back on Harry shortly after, he'd never see the teary smile on the teenager's face with eyes full of stubborn tears that wouldn't fall.

* * *

With a sigh, Severus Snape sat into a rather comfortable looking chair made of black leather and leaned back.

_She'd be very proud of you._

She wouldn't… She wasn't. He'd betrayed her, had separated her from her son… He'd as good as killed her.

Harry was not allowed to know. Never.

Snape was feeling selfish that way. He knew that Harry knowing what had happened all those years ago was nothing less than he deserved, especially now that he'd started to see that very unique child he was. But he couldn't bring himself to reveal the secret himself.

Suddenly, a tray with a glass of water appeared next to him. Seconds later, his trusted friend appeared.

"You called, Master Severus," Chita said.

"In fact, I have not," Snape replied though he knew the protest was needless.

"Really?" Before he'd met her he hadn't known that elves were capable of raising their eyebrows in a sarcastic gesture, "And I could've sworn you called me, Master."

Snape had to suppress another sigh. Well, it had been his choice. He'd summoned her yesterday in order to receive Harry's message. Unfortunately, Chita promptly decided that Hogwarts' elves didn't take enough care of his quarters completely ignoring his protest that they had been asked to leave his privacy.

Try telling a free, confident elf to leave something alone they'd set their mind on. Chita was most likely the only being who'd witness him completely break down this summer.

Only the headmaster had seen him more vulnerable, fifteen years ago, when he'd heard of Lily's death.

Due to the very exhausting events this summer (summons every other night, unbearable torture without being able to do anything else but report what he'd seen), Chita's protective streak had intensified. It had taken him nearly two weeks to convince her that she could remain at the mansion, while he went back to school. She'd checked in on him every other weekend.

Nevertheless, he'd called her yesterday for she was most trustworthy, the only family he had left… That decision he now questioned for she obviously was dissatisfied with his state of mind.

"Have you seen Master Potter today?"

Snape looked at her with a frown. He'd noticed yesterday that she was calling Harry 'master' not 'mister' as she usually did, but had refrained from saying anything for she'd confirmed that Lily's son lacked in enough sleep which had caused his worries to be otherwise engaged. Today, curiosity got the better of him.

"Pray tell me what he has done to deserve being called 'master,' Chita, for I thought only members of the family are called thus."

"Well," Chita spoke while conjuring a bucket of flowers ignoring Master Severus' growl. She started to decor the rather dark quarters with several kinds of flowers, especially nearby the private library for the light was best there, "Since you've forbidden me to look for potential partners I take the freedom to look for potential family." She spoke so matter of fact; it took Snape a moment to realize what she'd just said.

"He's a student of this school, Chita," he sputtered, "Nothing more."

"Yes, and Hogwarts is but a castle to you," was her sarcastic reply, "He's worthy of your care, Master Severus." That elf would get the better of him, one of these days.

"Has it ever occurred to you that I might not be worthy of him?" he hissed.

She halted in her activity which had been the cleaning of bookshelves and looked at him with sharp, amber eyes, "He's orphaned. Despite the fact he counts on his friends, it doesn't replace family. He deserves family and so do you."

"Why don't you include the Dark Lord while you're at it? He's been orphaned early in life and later made himself an orphan by murdering his father. By including him you give Harry Potter a wonderful family that killed his real one," venom struck not unlike a viper's.

"You did _not _kill them. You've done everything to save them."

How many times were they going to talk about this subject before either gave up? They wouldn't ever find a consensus anyhow.

"You're not going to leave the poor child alone with his struggles, are you?" If she thought he hadn't noticed her change of tactics, she was a fool.

"I will do everything in my power to help him, Chita, but to me he's an ordinary student of this school, nothing more."

Again, he hadn't known that elves could snort, at least before he'd met Chita.

"That boy is _everything but _ordinary, Master Severus. Especially to you. Or do you think I have forgotten all those summers you were complaining about the 'Potter brat'?" Hearing his own favourite expression of Harry caused him to flinch a bit before he regained control. Softly, long finger entwined with his, amber looked at him in motherly worry, "I hate to see you so lonely and I think the boy might have the needed stubbornness not to give up when you claim solitude." Having made her statement, she turned around and resumed with her work leaving a very thoughtful Potions Master.

* * *

"Try to remain firmly in the ground. Yes, you are moving, but you must keep your balance. This isn't a dance, this is defence," Professor Aikokyushin said. Once again, they were on the Quidditch pitch and had started with the breathing lessons. The secret that came with it, he'd decided not to reveal just yet for they weren't at the level he desired them to be.

A quarter an hour of breathing was followed by forty-five minutes of moving. The movements were rather the shift of stances than actual steps.

Turning around, stepping aside, moving forward… Everything could be done by three basic steps.

The first was a simple step forward, but your feet had to shift slightly for the foot moving forward looked straight ahead while the remaining foot was straight first but had to shift slightly outwards to gain a balanced stance.

The second step was practically turning on your heels while your feet shifted position not unlike while stepping forward.

The third step was again a turn, only that you stepped forward, turned on your heel while taking the remaining foot back.

It was ridiculously difficult and each house had lost about ten to twenty points for cussing. However, Professor Aikokyushin was kind enough to give the points back to those who were moving well.

Harry was one of them, so were Lavender, Pavarti, Pansy, Theodore, Blaise and Malfoy, albeit Moraku had to caution them not to take the movements as a dance. When Malfoy challenged him and asked what would happen if they didn't, Moraku merely implied that their balance was off while turning.

Anyway, Malfoy didn't believe him and actually voiced that causing Moraku to have them all stop the exercise.

"Mr Zabini, do you mind a demonstration? You will lose balance and most likely fall on the ground, I must warn you." Nevertheless, Blaise agreed saying that he'd had worse while giving the Gryffindors a significant look who grinned in return.

And so Blaise was asked to train the steps. Several movements later nothing happened until Moraku almost imperceptibly moved his wand and Blaise, who'd been moving forward, suddenly fell on grass.

Hard.

"What did I do Mr Zabini?"

"You prolonged the movement I initiated and I couldn't find balance in time."

"Correct. Mr Potter, would you mind doing the same as Mr Zabini?"

Harry didn't mind. As Blaise earlier, he was practising his steps when he suddenly felt something move his right leg out of its usual range. Sharply, he put the leg down, but lost balance when the pulling force was cut off.

"As you can see, Mr Potter displayed very good control of his own movements, he felt the moment something was off, but he still lost balance. Why?"

"I overbalanced. I fought against the force instead of playing with it or cutting it off through magic."

"Five points to Gryiffindor and five to Slytherin. Very good. I'm not expecting you to become proficient at movements that Japanese students learn within years of practise, but I want you to recognize the importance of it. It is essential in the art of counter attacks. Today, I want you to learn _Tate_, _Kabe _and the first of seven counters."

He demonstrated them all…

_Tate_, the defender became the shield…

_Kabe _was a Japanese form of _Protego_…

The first counter required some of the movements they'd been studying. The spell was casted while you were ready at the basic stance (one foot in front of the other while the one behind stood in a slight angle. The foot in front was on the same side as you held your wand). You 'catch' the spell with your wand and turn around your own axis while leading the spell above your head and slam your wand-hand down, not unlike a sword strike directed at the caster.

_Tate_, Harry liked very much. Protego was still his favourite due to its simplicity, but it felt good to imagine yourself as a shield. He was good at it, too.

_Kabe_, he could do well enough, but there were so many similarities to _Protego_ Harry knew it wasn't a spell he'd use often.

The first counter was brutally difficult. Harry's breaking point was a short moment when you moved your hand down before having turned. The spell's energy was directed at yourself at that point causing Harry to be hit by the spell.

Everybody struggled with the counter. Malfoy, who had trouble listening to Moraku's directions, lost balance rather frequently until he finally gave in and started to train the moves again… He had a lot less trouble with the counter at the end of the lesson.

What surprised Harry was that Hermione was struggling immensely. She kind of managed to get intermingled with her own steps. The spell blew up on her simply because she always hesitated.

She didn't have nearly as much difficulty as Neville. The poor boy had become excellent at self-defence in DA, but he simply wasn't born for spells that required movement. He didn't give up though and kept practising, ignoring the fact he was practising one spell for thirty minutes without experiencing the slightest improvement. It filled Harry with great respect.

Shortly before the bell rang, Harry and Ron managed what no one else had… Ron sent his _Furnuculus,_ which was significantly slower than _Stupefy_ or the Impediment jinx giving Harry some time. He turn before the spell actually connected, moving simultaneously with the spell as he turned around his axis and didn't slam his hand down but simply send it back slightly slower than he'd received it. That gave Ron time to properly move and again the spell became slower as it flew towards Harry. The two best friend smiled in triumph as the Boy Who Lived took the spell and sent it back. Ron practically had to move in slow motion as he turned, but the spell dissolved before he could send it back.

"Excellently done," Moraku said with a smile. Smiles during his lessons were rare, but he seemed honestly delighted, "Twenty points to Gryffindor. That is exactly what I want you to do. But I think we will stop for now. For homework I want you to keep practising breathing, the movements and I want you to find all the information you can concerning the one spell we haven't looked at today. _Hogo_. I want you to be able to tell me why we didn't practise it today, what this spell is and its English brother. I will not give you any limit, but I want you to analyze the spell without ever having performed it yourself."

Seamus lifted his hand, "Professor Moraku…" And froze. Oh, they'd all called him Moraku when the professor wasn't around, but they were aware that it was _not _his family name. In class, they either called him 'sir' or 'professor'.

As they'd feared, their new Defence teacher didn't look thrilled, "It is utterly rude to call me by my first name. If Aikokyushin is too hard to pronounce, you may call me _sensei_. Since I'm the only Japanese professor currently attending to this school, all of your classmates will realize whom you're talking about, but you will not call me by my first name. I'm aware that you call the teachers by their family name without any title of honour when no other professor is listening, but I doubt you call them by their first name. I merely pray to refrain from it in my case as well." The last sentence was spoken almost kindly, but this was the first time they'd ever seen him angry.

Seamus muttered an apology, but Aikokyushin merely indicated that this was not his fault alone.

A few minutes later, after having received some clarification concerning their homework, they left the Quidditch pitch and walked towards the greenhouse.

* * *

Good morning (Good night, it really depends on the time zone, but it's 5:30AM for me)!

This is the last update for this year... Not because I won't be writing, but because my beta will be out of town over the holidays and because I don't know how much time I'll have. I hope enough for another chapter very soon.

Thank you soooo much for all those kind reviews. I'll hopefully have time to thank you personally in my next post, otherwise I hope I'll be able to reply to your reviews, especially those who have been with me for so long (and the new readers who've written such kind reviews).

Special thanks to MissGoalie75, my beta, but you know that already ;-)

It's dangerous for me to write in the mornings for I'm not that coherent just yet... So, all I can say is: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Reviews are the best presents ever ;-)!

Chapter 13: _The One Thing He'll Always Regret_


	23. The One Thing He'll Always Regret, Part1

**Chapter 13, Part One: The One Thing He'll Always Regret**

For the inhabitants of Hogwarts, the following weekend seemed calm and quiet. No messages of war arrived.

Harry, Professors Snape and Dumbledore on the other hand had anything _but_ a calm and quiet weekend.

Instead of the usual summons on Saturday, the spy had already been called for on Friday and he received the order he'd already been informed of by Harry through Chita.

'Get to know Moraku Aikokyushin, find out why exactly he's here and gain his trust.'

The order sounded something around those lines and for once, the Potions Master was glad to have received yet another command by the Dark Lord for it allowed him to be closer to the Defence teacher and therefore his colleagues in general. Still, secrecy was a trusted friend of his. For example, it was unwise to include too many people into his plans of plotting revenge against Dolores Umbridge.

However, the desire to crush that woman was strong and, as it seemed, he was not the only person having it. In fact, Filius Flitwick stood in front of his office at Saturday morning asking him whether he was ready to include him into the oncoming retribution. It was then, when the Potions Master realized that meddling with those of goblin descent was indeed not the wisest of ideas.

He then introduced the Charms teacher to the mission of 'how to crush a meddling toad.' Of course, he was forced to lie. Flitwick didn't know that Harry was an Empath and Snape felt no inclination to tell him.

Several hundred years ago, a potion was created that forced the drinker who'd maliciously hurt an Empath to live through the same pain the Empath had felt and to suffer the effect of the curses they'd used. Therefore, if Dolores Umbridge drank the potion, the scar would appear on her hand and, for she was not as resistant to the Imperious curse as a certain black-haired young man, would never be able to lie again.

Naturally, Snape had thought about slipping the potion down the Dark Lord's throat for he'd used the Unforgivables against Harry so many times, the combination of his own Cruciatus and killing curse should be strong enough to end even this monster. Unfortunately, they didn't talk of the Dark Lord's brilliant mind needlessly. Though not as able as Snape in the actual brewing of potions, he was able to recognize them, and his knowledge concerning the dark craft of potions making surpassed even the one of the youngest Potions Master in Great Britain.

Back to the toad.

He couldn't explain the exact mechanics of the potion to Filius, couldn't tell him that there was an Empath needed for the brewing to take effect, but merely told him that a potion existed that was able to force her to taste her own medicine.

The evil smile had not belonged on the good-natured, tiny wizard's face. Never again would Snape underestimate the ruthlessness of Ravenclaw's Head of House.

He even brought attention to a matter the full-blooded Slytherin hadn't thought of while he was brewing the potion (with slight alterations to the original recipe)… Dolores Umbridge was one of the most passionate supporters when it came to the restriction of rights for so-called Half-Breeds. If they played their cards cunningly enough, they might be able to cause a serious blow into that part of the Ministry's faulty reasoning.

All they needed was a loyal member of the Order who hated Dolores Umbridge and cared for Harry (to Snape's horror he realized that every single member of the Order belonged to that category these days… ever since his opinion had changed), who would have access to the Ministry (Bill and Arthur Weasley definitely belonged to that category, but Snape was afraid that this would lead to informing Molly Weasley, who'd definitely plan to solve their problem permanently in a way she would end up with a life sentence in Azkaban for having murdered the toad) and who possessed the subtlety of keeping things quiet.

Sitting at his desk, the Potions professor groaned slightly.

It irked him that this subtle being was not only a Gryffindor but one of the four people he'd despised the most while attending to Hogwarts.

Anyway, Lupin was a sensible choice.

Folding the letter he'd just written he called for Chita.

"This is becoming a bad habit, Master Severus," she smiled cockily, her amber eyes sparkling in hidden amusement.

"I apologize for bothering you once again with the meagre task of a messenger," he said in all honesty while putting the letter into an envelope and preparing the flask containing the potion.

"I live to serve," she replied, but at the Potions professor's stern gaze, she stated seriously, "It's never a bother to help you, Master Severus, for I know you'd never give me a task if there was another safe choice."

That was good enough for him.

"Bring this," he handed the letter and flask over to the small elf, "To Remus Lupin and destroy the letter as soon as he read it."

"With or without his fingers still holding the parchment?" she asked dead-panned. Too much sarcasm wasn't good for those of Elven kin, Snape decided.

"Without."

She actually liked Remus Lupin (who had no idea of her existence), had scolded her master multiple times for letting old grudges getting in the way of a potential friendship with Lupin (the only friend his age that wouldn't kill him if his true alliances came to light). It didn't surprise him therefore that his answer made her smile.

A moment later she was gone and the former Death Eater rubbed his eyes. He was used to stand up early in the morning, but last night had kept him awake, long after the Dark Lord had sent them away.

Mashk was dead, the Tanruk clan's resistance broken, a bitter defeat for the headmaster, who'd done everything in order to safe her life. According to Professor Dumbledore, it had to be a harsh blow for Harry as well, who'd gone to the old wizard long before sunrise to inform him of the threat.

He was only a boy, for Merlin's sake! The biggest worry he was supposed to have was to receive an insufficient grade in his homework.

Not whether or not the Dark Lord would gain new alliances if he didn't provide information fast enough.

Worse than that, the Death Eaters were slowly but steadily getting ready to use the _Indicendi_ themselves. Not fast enough in their master's opinion, but what seemed ages away not too long ago, suddenly threatened to draw nearer.

The Vampires were interested in an alliance (according to the Dark Lord), several wizards and witches suffering from lycanthropy started to follow Fenrir Greyback, right into the monster's welcoming arms.

To say it shortly, the war started to close in on them and there was hardly anything they could do about it.

What nearly drove him mad with worry was that he couldn't talk to Lily's son about this. Not without blowing his cover. He needed at least some reason for detention, everything else would raise suspicion.

The child felt responsible for the mutt's death, he didn't sleep enough and now all this… Surely, Harry's abilities in the form of Empathy made every single night strenuous, nearly unbearable agony, and he'd planned on helping him with this (or at least trying to), but to feel the walls closing in on you was enough to make a grown man snap.

Not to mention a sixteen-year-old.

Before he could continue with his musings, Chita reappeared, "Master Severus, he demands to see you, but I will not bring him here unless you are willing to accept him." Her face was unusually serious. Maybe, she wanted them to become friends; nevertheless, she was unwilling to have her master be stripped of his own choices.

Besides, when she'd heard that wizard growling it had taken all of her willpower not to fight him off with magic.

He merely nodded in acceptance, but as she disappeared his hand slipped into his right pocket, where his wand usually rested.

Member of the Order or not, an angry Werewolf was not a creature to trifle with, full moon or not.

Seconds later, a familiar 'crack' was heard and Remus Lupin appeared alongside his trusted friend whom he silently told to leave. She looked dubious at first, but obeyed.

"Lupin? Have I somehow been unclear? Why do you feel the need to see me?" he looked at his old rival impassively.

"Is it true, Severus?" The question was whispered, as if he'd been screaming for hours losing his voice in the process.

Yet, the disbelieving tone made Snape roll his eyes exasperation, "No, Lupin, I merely enjoy risking both of our lives by handing over information and a potion that will result in a session of torture by the Dark Lord, whether or not he believes I provided you with either."

"Medusa's Head, Severus!" the already grey-haired but still young wizard exclaimed, his eyes flashing with anger, "I did not come here to listen to your sarcastic tongue! Dolores Umbridge used a Blood Quill on Harry!"

"That she did," he replied calmly, while his wand was ready to be drawn any second. He hadn't survived for so long in the literal serpent's lair without knowing when violence was about to break out.

"That bloody woman! And you want to get back at her for it?" the disbelieving tone was almost imperceptible, but Snape picked up on it. His temper (that was always on edge when facing a Marauder) was on the verge of breaking out.

"Those children are under my watch and care, Lupin, as they were under hers and she abused it."

'_Of course, and you have never done anything to make your students' lives miserable._' He'd hated that voice of reason at first. These days, it only added to the incredible guilt he was dealing with every day.

"Harry surely never experienced much of your watch if it didn't serve the sole purpose of expelling him," was the venomous reply. Lupin was being uncharacteristically short-tempered, but it wasn't a secret that he hated the toad, which added only to his protective streak when it came to Harry.

Nevertheless, Merlin would shave his beard long before Snape would accept a jab by this particular wizard in front of him, "At least I've never attempted to kill him unlike most of his former Defence teachers including yourself." '_At a time when you're everything but yourself,'_ he knew, but he had no inclination on pointing out that fact. Lupin's face was ashen; it didn't touch Snape in the slightest. "Also, I have saved Potter's life more often while he was under my watch than you have while he was under yours."

What followed was not a cold reply, but a shaky sigh. Weakly, the Werewolf closed his eyes, "I saw him last spring before…" A soft shake of the head was followed by an expression full of sorrow and misery, "Surely, it was only his head in the fire, but I wonder… Why hasn't he told anybody?"

"It is beyond me what goes on in that minuscule brain of his, Lupin." It was nothing but a blatant lie. He could think of several reasons why the boy had chosen to be silent, none of which Lupin, who'd had loving parents, would ever be able to guess and though the boy was not brilliant, he possessed a considerable amount of brain power, "But tell me, how come you saw him last spring? A floo-call, you said? Why would he have felt the need for that?" He would definitely have to keep his curiosity in check. To the rest of the world he was indifferent towards the boy's fate.

"He was distressed, because of… It doesn't matter."

"I would say it matters very much that Potter decided to ignore all rules once again in order to seek your advice," he contradicted coldly. Maybe, it was the manner he spoke that provoked the following response.

"He came to us after witnessing our treatment of you after our OWL exams, Severus! You should have seen his face that day, he looked shattered and so horribly disappointed, Merlin, you would have laughed in triumph," bitterness didn't suit Lupin. It didn't suit him at all, "It killed Siri… It killed _him_ to see Harry like that. He spoke of this… _Days_ after Harry had come to us. It was then, when we both realized that no matter how much alike James he looks, he's much more like Lily was at that age, or James as he grew older."

"More serious," Snape interrupted. He didn't want to think of what kind of a man James Potter became in later years. He was more than satisfied with hating the bullying teenager he'd known.

"I'm sorry?"

Confusion. Why would his sentence confuse Lupin so much?

"Lily Evans loved to laugh, she was joyous," when Snape closed his eyes, he could still hear her laughter, "She was…"

Naïve. Completely oblivious to how ugly the world could be. It was the one character treat he'd feared more than anything else, for as her innocence had touched him so profoundly, he'd always been afraid of tainting it.

In the end, he had. That fateful day at the lake. By insulting her, he'd taken something from her eyes that would never return.

"Potter isn't like this. He's quiet, solemn." His eyes displayed wisdom far beyond his age…

A boy who'd witnessed too much too early in life.

"But he has her fierce sense for justice. Of course, he would speak up against Dolores Umbridge who represented what he despised: narrow-mindedness, not to mention ignorance of the truth," the Werewolf's wandhand curled into a fist, "That bloody, short, sexually frustrated," Snape raised his eyebrows at that, not able to remember a time Lupin had last insulted anybody this profanely, "Stupid, insufferable bi… witch. How are we planning on doing this?"

"Have you not read the message at all, Lupin?" he asked a bit irritably.

"Once, before the house-elf you sent burned it." That provoked an almost imperceptible smirk on the Potions Master's face.

"I simplified the potion I gave you. Any idiot could brew it now. Lily Evans worked on a similar project during our NEWTs and in later years before they had to go into hiding," '_Don't falter. Don't _think_. Continue, just keep talking,' _he kept telling himself, "As one of her best friends," this was not burning jealousy in his chest. The strenuous days of spying were getting to him, that was all, "You will have had free access to her lab and therefore to her research." She'd always been trusting like that, never believing that someone could ever betray her. He would not close his eyes in despair, he would not, "You received the information of the usage of a Blood Quill on Potter and several other children," thirty-two, that number would burn into his memory forever. Thirty-two children had been subjected to an _Unforgivable_ (though not as intensely and permanent as Potter), twenty-one coming from the Gryffindor House, five Ravenclaws, four Hufflepuffs and two of his own Snakes, Caleb Socius and Malik Stones, the former having graduated last year, the latter a Fourth Year. Why hadn't a single child come to them or at the very least, told their parents? "By Filius Flitwick. You brewed the potion and will have the toad drink it. However, I want you to wait, be patient! You are the only Gryffindor I know capable of this feat. This isn't a good time for mayhem at the Ministry." Not with the _Indicendi_ lingering at the doorstep. This was not a time for a scandal, for having the Wizarding Community losing their last bit of respect for the government.

"Then why are you giving me this piece of information now? Why, Severus? If you don't want me to act right away?" he'd never thought to hear a Marauder defeated.

'_Because this is important, because I don't know how long I will survive, because I need at least one person to make sure that justice is being served, once I'm no longer. Because Albus and Minerva are the last people in the world I want involved before it's done and the toad safe from their retribution."_

"Because it's necessary," he merely said. All of a sudden, someone knocked at the office door. Both were able to suppress a flinch.

Calm and indifferent, he asked for the name and reason for the interruption.

"It's Harry Potter, _sir_," his heart skipped a beat at the cold tone. He was a good actor if their life was on the line, "Professor Flitwick told me you _wished_," it kind of sounded like there was a completely different word on top of his mind and that had nothing to do with a wish, "To see me."

For the split of a second, he felt fierce pride for that child who carried his heart on his sleeve. The Sorting Hat indeed would have had a hard time choosing the best house for Harry.

'_How did you know, Filius? Have I not been careful enough? Do you see through my shields?'_ Ice-cold fear followed as the pride disappeared causing his heartbeat to exhilarate.

"Enter," he sneered.

The door opened, was closed and an additional _Muffilato_ was spelled so quickly, Snape and Lupin couldn't help but look surprised.

As he turned to look at his professor, Harry froze at the sight of Lupin, all colour left his face, his eyes widened.

"Professor Lupin?" He wondered if it broke the Werewolf's heart as well to hear Harry's voice so desperate, the voice of a child about to be scolded by a beloved adult, "I'm sorry, Professors. I didn't know there was an Order meeting going on." Why was he avoiding he Lupin's gaze, one of his father's best friends? "Do you want me to leave, sir? What time do you want me to come back?"

"Stay here, Potter," Snape spoke coldly, though he wasn't sure why he kept up the farce. Remus Lupin was, apart from very few, the last person to give away tactical information to the one person who'd claimed his closest friends' lives, especially when it concerned Harry, "Our conversation can be continued by letter correspondence."

"How are you, Harry?" the wolf's face was soft and caring, but the teenager flinched visibly as if he'd hit him. He couldn't remember a time he'd seen the boy flinch.

"Fine, sir. I'm fine." _'Lupin, please, don't be foolish enough to believe him that sentence. Nobody currently living at this school does anymore,' _"How are you, Professor Lupin?" One was inclined to think that they didn't have any contact at all, outside of school. Harry didn't even call him by his first name. A bit odd, especially if one looked at the fact they knew each other for three and a half years and Lupin stopped being a teacher a long time ago.

"I feel good, Harry."

Oh great! Two of them!

Lupin looked as if he was practically dead on his feet (that led to the not so unimportant question as to why Harry looked fully awake, in fact _finer_ than Lupin did).

Harry didn't notice though for he still did his best to avoid the adult wizard's gaze. Snape knew that expression. He'd seen it on the boy's face before.

He felt guilty, but why…?

Of course, Black! Snape reprimanded himself for not seeing it sooner. Harry felt responsible for Black's death, for _killing_ Lupin's only friend he'd left from his teenager years.

'_Lupin, what have you been telling this boy? If you did anything to support him in his ridiculous beliefs, Dolores Umbridge won't be the only person to be force-fed with potions I created.'_

"You didn't answer my question truthfully, Harry," the scolding was soft, almost imperceptible, but the green-eyed boy picked up on it.

He finally caught Lupin's gaze and said firmly, "Neither have you, sir."

"Please, Harry…"

Two words and Snape could almost feel the boy's world crumble. His eyes revealed vulnerability of intensity, it was painful.

Yet, the boy's face remained stoic. He did not break.

The Potions Master had come to respect Harry, not too long ago. Today, he felt something that suspiciously seemed like quiet admiration.

"I live. He doesn't. How am I supposed to feel?" the question was asked sharply.

"Harry, it was not your fault," Snape didn't like the surprise in Lupin's voice. What had they been talking these past few months?

"Yes, it was," the green-eyed boy turned away from them looking at one of the dark walls that formed the Potions Master's office. Tentatively, Lupin advanced the boy and laid a hand on his shoulder. The fact the boy neither flinched nor avoided the touch did _not_ make his insides curl in envy. It was good the boy had a parental figure to lean on.

Why did it have to be the Werewolf, though?

"Harry… Last year was a terrible year for you. Sirius," the underage wizard flinched in a way not unlike the rest of the Wizarding World reacted when the Dark Lord was called by his name. Ironically, that name wouldn't provoke such a reaction from the Boy Who Lived, "He told me just how difficult it was for you. Had I only known how…" He stopped because of Snape who shook his head warningly. This was neither place nor time to discuss Dolores Umbridge in front of Harry. There was a by far bigger issue, namely the fact he felt responsible for his godfather's death.

But Lupin couldn't possibly understand what that felt like. Black had known, Snape had seen it in his eyes. He had felt responsible for the Potters' death in a way not unlike he did every day.

All the 'what if's' and the 'If I only's' that keep spinning in your head…

Lupin didn't, couldn't possibly understand what it meant to stand up every morning with the knowledge (or in Harry's case, belief) to have accompanied murder. Suffering from lycanthropy or not.

"Many decisions have led to his demise, yours was only…"

'_Finish that sentence and I'll skin you alive, wolf!'_

Fortunately, Lupin possessed the necessary sensitivity to realize what that sounded like and stopped talking.

"You didn't…" Before he could continue, Harry whirled around with his eyes flashing. Snape felt the air change. Several items on his desk started to vibrate.

"I forgot, okay?" Harry hissed, wouldn't his eyes seem so desperate; one could have believed that his anger was directed at the two other men in the room. But his anger was directed inwards. Last night definitely had left an impression on the boy's state of mind, "I forgot the horror of facing _him_! I still can't believe… Last year, I forgot what it was like. The world started to close in, and Umbridge and the Ministry… I didn't know anything! I didn't know what was going on and I… You know what it's like, Professor," no child should ever have to look so scared, desperate and mature as Harry did the moment their gazes met, "Looking into those merciless, red eyes, seeing his hands almost caressing his wand as he draws it. Knowing that he could end your life any second, torture you another time. And I…" He shook his head, "School suddenly seemed so big, Umbridge gave me a hard time and I was supposed to think of my future, what I wanted to make of my life," the cold laughter caused Snape's hair on his neck to stand up, "I'm lucky if I turn seventeen and I was supposed to… But then I got caught up in it. Umbridge became important and I wanted to stop her, Dumbledore didn't want to talk to me and all I wanted to know was why…" Once again, he stopped talking, "Merlin, Cedric! He died because he was there. '_Kill the spare_!' that's what Voldemort said. He killed him because he was in the way. I'm not in the way, I'm a bloody target and I forgot about it. I'll _never _forgive myself for it, never! Sirius gave me a mirror to contact him, all I had to do was…" his hand slipped into his pocket and Snape saw it curling into a fist, "But I forgot! I forgot so many things over the year, caught up in a bubble of mindless anger. I didn't listen to you, to Hermione, to Sirius. I was such a prat to my friends… No, Professor Lupin, Sirius' death is my fault. He would've never gone there, hadn't it been for my stupidity, my arrogance to think that I knew what I was doing. I didn't serve the death blow, but I as good as killed him."

Lupin was pale, Snape was quite sure he looked about the same.

Did Harry hate himself or did he simply believe that he didn't deserve to be alive?

It didn't matter. This wasn't good. More than that, it was _wrong_. Additionally, it wouldn't be easy to get Harry off his beliefs, actually much harder than he'd thought so far.

Lupin hesitated for a second then took the boy in a strong embrace. Harry fell into it and Snape shortly thought that this was it.

The boy would break down and the pieces would be picked up by the wolf.

Yet again, he didn't. His eyes were firmly closed, his face softened, but there was not a single tear falling down.

"You didn't, Harry," Lupin said quietly, yet firmly, "Don't ever think that."

"I'll try," Harry replied, his voice a mere whisper, but Snape didn't buy it. The boy had swayed far too quickly, no matter how consoling the embrace of the wolf was, "Did something happen I haven't heard of, Professor Lupin? I mean, why are you here?"

"There's mere Order business I have to take care of, but it's nothing for you to worry about," Lupin could lie rather smoothly when he thought it was a necessity.

"Be careful, sir," Lily's son said, not with the voice of a worried child, it was spoken as a warning, "Voldemort," apologetically he looked at Snape whose Dark Mark twitched painfully, "_He_'s interested in gaining allies at the moment and people suffering from lycanthropy are particularly open to his speeches due to the ill-treatment they receive by the Wizarding community. Your attempts on stopping him will be a hindrance for him, and he has only one way of dealing with the people that get into his way." It was a statement, neutral, nothing that would indicate that he knew much more than what he read from the Daily Prophet and heard from Dumbledore. It was remarkable how Harry was capable of overcoming the horrors he witnessed every night.

"I'll take care, Harry, don't you worry about me."

He might as well have asked him to stop breathing. The teenager would have complied just as well. He disliked the finality in Lupin's tone… The wolf didn't honestly believe that a hug and a mere sentence changed Harry's utter conviction to have contributed to his godfather's death, did he?

And yet, this seemed to be the case for they hugged again, Lupin told him that they would discuss the 'other matter' another time and told Harry once again not to worry. Only two minutes later, the wolf was gone again. Harry stood still for a moment staring at the fireplace before he closed his eyes again.

"Don't judge him, sir. He doesn't know what you know. Besides, he doesn't want to talk about it. I'm surprised he was able to say his name. There's… It feels like someone cut his heart out and I know that's because _he_ died. Professor Lupin doesn't want to think too much about the happenings at the Ministry, and, Merlin, I don't blame him…" Harry didn't look at him, his face was steadily fixed on the fireplace, his voice croaked slightly, "Just… Don't blame him. He's gone through a lot."

'_And you haven't? He's the adult, not you_."

"Have your abilities as Empath developed these past few weeks, Mr Potter, or are you just that good at guessing other people's feelings?"

"It really depends on how well I know the person, how close I am to them and how desperate they are… Is it possible to get into this later, sir? I would like to talk to you."

Surprised, Snape walked in front of the boy and caught his green eyes that were hidden by a pair of glasses, "Professor Flitwick didn't send you downstairs, did he?"

"No, sir, it's true that I was in Professor Flitwick's office, but we had a discussion about alterations of wand movements in order to receive a more fluent effect when changing from the Summoning to the Banishing Charm," he'd definitely have to talk to Filius more, "Anyway, he apologized for being late for he had a meeting with you and I used it as a distraction. Professor Flitwick's classroom is warded and I casted a _Muffliato_. Therefore, the only person able to contradict my statement earlier is Professor Flitwick and frankly, he's too intelligent to be outsmarted by possible spies," the soft smile playing around the Boy Who Lived's face when he spoke of the Charms professor made him irrationally envious.

The boy was a born Slytherin, but he would've never fit into his House due to his utter lack of sense for self-preservation.

"I need to know more about the Unspeakables, sir," Snape suppressed a flinch, but barely. "Professor Dumbledore is dealing with enough, I can't bother him now. I feel… I mean, I… I thought that, maybe, you know something about them. Apart from what _he _told you at that Death Eater meeting." The serious, emerald eyes unnerved him, but he wouldn't give in. There was another matter to be discussed today, the one Lupin had failed to finish. Nevertheless, he understood the necessity of what the young wizard had just said.

"Sit down, Mr Potter," he said quietly. Harry complied immediately and sat down on his usual chair, "The _Indicendi_ have their origin in Elemental magic as the Dark Lord said that night. What he did not say was that their original form did not belong to the so-called Dark Arts at all, but perhaps, you are able to find out its original purpose on your own. What branch of magic deals with the body, its temperature, its fluids, its bones?"

For a moment there was silence when he saw the boy's eyes dart around in the room, never keeping still, then suddenly they were fixed on black orbs, "Healing, sir? Those spell were once created to heal?"

"Yes, Mr Potter. Imagine the advantage of being able to control a patient's body temperature without having to wait for a fever-reducing potion to take effect. Morgana, a great sorceress of old whom I'm sure you've heard of in Muggle mythology, was the one to create them. Her accomplishments are often forgotten for she lived in Merlin's time, but with her healing skills she surpassed him by length," the cards in the Chocolate Frogs were proof of what he'd just said. Two sentences, one of which merely said that Morgana was a '_respected friend of Merlin,'_ the other said her to be a healer. Merlin's accomplishments on the other hand were presented in detail, "When she created those spells, I seriously doubt she was capable of grasping what kind of horror would be unleashed a few hundred years later. In the Middle-ages, a dark witch whose name was never spoken, as you can see not only the Dark Lord was capable of inducing fear into the heart of others, changed the spells into what they are today, or at least, her efforts would later be picked up by other dark wizards and witches over the years. Anyway, the _Indicendi_ were always part of the underground, meaning only few wizards and witches heard of them. Seventy years ago was the last report of the _Indicendi _in action. That was the first time they could not be spoken anymore. That news spread fast and, as it seems, the Dark Lord found the one person in his early years of study, and received the knowledge from them. Why he didn't use them in the last war, I am unable to say."

"He thought he could rule the world otherwise," Harry answered the question he hadn't voiced, "There's no need to show all your cards if there's another way. _His_ reasoning, not mine. He must've adapted them somehow… I don't know exactly why I believe that, but I doubt any of you would be alive if he hadn't."

"True, the spell he used was an act of brilliance, I'm inclined to say," Snape regretted the words the moment he uttered them. Fearing the Dark Lord would be respected and accepted by the Boy Who Lived, being in awe of his magical skill would not be taken well.

To his surprise, Lily's son merely replied, "He worked on that spell for several months. I'd be surprised if it were anything less than brilliant. Of course, he'd find a way to… He makes it all look so easy," that wasn't spoken in envy, but it was surrounded by a mixture of fear, resignation and cold anger, "Magic, I mean. I'm glad I didn't have this much insight in my fourth year. I'm not sure if I would've been able to fight back."

'_You would have been. Why else would you train your friends to survive? Why else would you stand in front of me asking me about the _Indicendi_? Because you haven't given up yet and you're not inclined to."_

"You would have, Mr Potter. I'm sure of that," he only said earning a small smile from the emerald-eyed boy.

"So, why didn't it kill him when he received the knowledge?"

"You are already thinking ahead, Mr Potter. You see, seventy years ago, when the _Body Curses,_ as they were called until then, became the _Indicendi_, the curses were being cursed themselves. Before you ask, yes, it is possible to curse a word, but it needs precision far beyond what most magic is capable of. Do you know what a curse is?"

"A spell used to hurt another person," Harry said promptly, only to become thoughtful again, "Curses are charms with a malicious purpose."

"I prefer the first definition for though what you say about charms is correct, it doesn't include all curses…" He stopped talking for he started to contemplate. How much information was wise to give this young man? He'd proven himself to be far more trustworthy than he'd been at that age, he'd already come in contact with very dark magic, the Unforgivables, Legilimency of Deception, and now the _Indicendi_, not to mention half a year of a front-row seat when it came to torture and murder due to the Dark Lord's hands and commands, but… Did he really want the boy to lose even more of his innocence?

He didn't, and he knew that neither did the headmaster, otherwise he'd have been told by now, but if he wanted the boy to survive, he had to understand what he would be up against, "Curses is magic performed to harm another being, meaning it solely depends on what you mean to do with your magic that decides whether or not, it is a curse."

"So, _Wingardium Leviosa _can be a curse if you use it to throw someone off a cliff and _Avada Kedavra _isn't necessarily a curse if you use it to end a being's suffering like an old horse that is no longer able to run."

Clever. True.

Unfortunately… "The latter statement is, though in itself correct, a very philosophical topic, Mr Potter, and I do not wish to discuss this with you. However, I am glad to see you understand what I am trying to convey you. Anyhow, that was the definition of a _curse_. Since this expression has a rather bad reputation and is built on a person's intent, there is the definition of the _classical curse_. The classical curses are divided in three categories, Charms, inscriptions and potions. The first is commonly used when one speaks of curses, some inscriptions are also included to that but not all."

Harry bared his right hand, Snape suppressed a flinch.

_I must not tell lies_.

"This is an inscription, isn't it? I mean… I know I'm able to lie, but I'm far more hesitant about it than I used to be. It's like an inner stru…" He stopped talking immediately and looked away. Snape resisted the sudden urge to close his eyes. Thank Merlin for the boy's willpower, the Blood Quill truly left its mark.

He decided to continue their original conversation. It was yet another issue to take care of. The list only got longer and longer.

"Yes and no. The Blood Quill is a dark item that was once cursed due to a ceremony. We speak of ceremonies when two or all three of the categories come into play. The Blood Quill however curses through inscription. Are you with me so far, Mr Potter?"

"Yes, sir." He had the boy's full attention. That much was clear.

"The _Indicendi_ are charm curses, as are the Unforgivables, while the Draft of the Living Dead is indeed a potion curse," an emotion flickered over Harry's face leaving Snape to wonder, if the boy too thought of their very first meeting, more than five years ago, "Inscription curses were often used by the Ancient Egyptians as your friend, Bill Weasley, will be able to concur. He must be exceptionally familiar with them by now. Can you tell me how a charm curse can be cursed?"

"Only by another charm curse," was the prompt reply.

"Why?"

"Potions and inscriptions need material, they need something solid and I guess a lot of potions have to be ingested, so they need an actual person. Charm curse is the only form to curse something that is not, well, solid," for a moment he was silent, then, "It's still impossible!"

"Why?" Snape asked again. He was exceedingly proud of his young pupil. The boy was truly smart.

"How is it possible to curse a spell? You'd have… My voice, my very magic differs from yours, sir. The caster of the curse would have to take this into consideration when he wants the curse to take effect whenever the spell is spoken."

Snape couldn't help but nod in approval. A small, soft smile became visible. The last student provoking such a reaction had been a NEWT student three years ago, Carol Skye, who'd left everyone speechless with her performance. She currently attended one of the most prestigious schools to receive her Mastery in Potions Making in the United States.

He felt Harry straighten as if noticing the significance of it.

"You are right. The wizard or witch who cursed the _Body Curses _in order to create the _Indicendi_ had to anticipate every tone of voice uttered, every wand movement made, every spur of magic unleashed, everything."

"How long does it take?"

"Five to ten years solely depending on the caster's consideration and magical power," he answered calmly, but he wasn't surprised to see the teenager's jaw drop.

"Why would anyone go over so many lengths to do that?"

"That person used present knowledge and elevated it to an entirely new level. They didn't want their knowledge to spread. For knowledge is power." He was quite sure what Harry's next question would be.

"Then why handing it over to a wizard like Volde… _him_?"

"The Dark Lord is highly proficient at the art of acquiring knowledge as you very well know, Mr Potter," he answered.

"No, sir," the boy shook his head contradicting his words, "Remember the Fifth Curse. You can only bear this one if your Occlumency is far above the average, I'm quite sure that you are the only one who received that knowledge. Bellatrix Lestrange," the boy's eyes burned as he spoke of the witch who'd contributed to his godfather's death, "Would have died on impact. I doubt the creator of the _Indicendi_ would have given away this information any other way than willingly."

He hadn't thought of it like this. He viewed the Dark Lord as a superior being still, after all those years. Apart from the headmaster, he doubted there was anyone to equal him in power. Harry had a different perspective. Maybe because he'd seen the Dark Lord at his most vulnerable state, maybe… It was remarkable that the one person viewed the Dark Lord as breakable who had every reason in the world to fear him.

Snape couldn't help it. It gave him hope.

"The art of Legilimency isn't the only way of the Dark Lord to acquire knowledge, Mr Potter, in fact… I doubt the ultimate creator of the _Indicendi_ is still alive. It is well known the Dark Lord killed every mentor who'd taught him bits and pieces of the Dark Arts."

Thoughtfully, Harry looked at him, then, he nodded in acceptance.

"We've come off topic in the face of history, Mr Potter… Why are you smirking?"

"Nothing, sir. I just thought that if you taught us History of Magic there would a lot less people snoring during those lessons," the smirk was mischievous and good-humoured.

"I want to meet one student daring to fall asleep during my lectures," he replied wryly causing the boy to laugh outright. That was when he realized the tension surrounding the boy for it was absent for a short moment.

"I doubt anyone would ever dare, sir," the smirk was a bit softer, before it disappeared again, "I'm distracting you, sir. What were you saying?"

"You asked me about the _Indicendi_. By now you know their origin and their effect, the headmaster told you that they work similarly to the killing curse, namely there is no counter and they do not work through solid walls, though they are able to burst them if the caster is powerful enough. What else do you want to know?" Again he knew what question would follow, this time he didn't have an answer, though.

"How can we protect ourselves from it?" Snape hated the hope that was mingled in the boy's voice. All he'd be able to do was disappoint him.

"Nobody who's tried so far happened to survive, Mr Potter, I'm afraid."

"There must be one weakness. Imperious can simply be overcome by the power of will," _'Yes, exactly, it is that easy…'_ Snape thought sarcastically, "Cruciatus always has to be at wandpoint, so if you're not alone but your attacker is you have an advantage. The killing curse…" He faltered.

"Yes?"

"It's got to precise. If the aim is off, the curse doesn't hit. Does something like this apply to the Unspeakables as well, sir?"

"No Death Eater under the Dark Lord's command will be able to cast more than two Unspeakables in a row, but as far as I know, the headmaster already told you this," Snape stated as indifferently as possible.

"Yes, he did. I was thinking about _him_ personally, though. I mean '_If you as much as injure Harry Potter, I will skin you alive_' was a clear warning, meaning no Death Eater will dare to touch me. My friends are another matter, but if I can teach them how to survive an attack by Voldemort," the mark twitched, but Snape ignored it, "They should be able to survive pretty much everything else. So, it all comes down to _him_." It sounded as if they were having a normal conversation about homework and Quidditch, not the fact they were talking about Harry's potential cause of death. Years of practice kept Snape from rising from his seat.

"I honestly don't know. I've never seen the Dark Lord perform them. I am sorry for being of so little help." He froze. He'd apologized outright. He couldn't remember the last time… In fact, he could. He'd said sorry to another bearer of those emerald eyes, more than twenty years ago. The situation differed by far, but his heart didn't seem to care for it started to exhilarate.

"Don't be sorry, sir, not for this. It's not your fault," Harry replied quietly, wide-eyed, the apology taking him as much aback as the one who'd spoken it. Then, he sighed, "I just hope Professor Dumbledore will think of a way. He's sleeping enough, isn't he?"

The sudden change of topic caused Snape to search the boy's eyes, "More than you do, I am certain." Harry turned away faster than he was able to read his expression.

"Well, that is not a particular difficult feat to accomplish," Harry murmured quietly.

Snape was a bit sorry to have their conversation turn like this, but he was glad to finally be able to speak of some of the things he'd learned about the boy these past few weeks and especially today. He'd start cautiously, though, "What kind of glamour do you use, then?"

"None at all," the answer was quick and firm, but now that Snape was a bit more attuned due to Harry's comment earlier, he could see the boy's right hand twitch a little, just enough to see the struggle.

"Don't lie to me," as he spoke he drew his wand and nonverbally spoke _Finite_. There was no effect whatsoever, "Sealing Charm," Snape muttered, "Clever. _Sigillas franges et Finite incantatem!_" The wand movement this charm combination need was difficult, but the Potions Master accomplished it without faltering once.

The spell worked instantly covering Harry in a glow. The boy tensed and seemed to think of bolting causing Snape to lock the door nonverbally, just in case.

* * *

_A/N_: First chapter in 2011!

I hope you liked it.

Special thanks to all those who reviewed the last chapter, you guys are great! Please, continue :-)

Pellegrina: Die in den PM's angedeutete Szene kommt im nächsten Teil des Kapitels vor. Es ist wieder einmal ein bisschen lange geworden.


	24. The One Thing He'll Always Regret, Part2

"_Don't lie to me," he spoke as he drew his wand before nonverbally speaking Finite. There was no effect whatsoever. "Sealing Charm," Snape muttered, "Clever. __Sigillas franges et Finite incantatem!" __The wand movement this charm combination need was difficult, but the Potions Master accomplished it without faltering once. _

_The spell worked instantly covering Harry in a glow. The boy tensed and seemed to think of bolting, causing Snape to lock the door nonverbally, just in case._

"_Look at me, Mr Potter," he commanded quietly, but the boy's face stayed out his reach. He could see that the robes seemed slightly looser than they had seconds before, but he didn't seem alarmingly slim, "Harry, please turn around."_

**Chapter 13, Part Two: The One Thing He'll Always Regret**

Slowly, very slowly, he turned around with his gaze fixed on the ground. Snape saw enough.

The boy's face was ashen to the point it seemed grey, only around his eyes were dark circles. Snape couldn't see their expression, but they were sunken as if the boy's body had dried out. The boy's hands and arms seemed rough, like parchment.

He looked like death warmed over.

In fact, there was a frightening resemblance between the Boy Who Lived and his godfather after he'd escaped Azkaban after a twelve-year-long imprisonment.

For once, Snape was unable to control his demeanour. His hand flew up to his face covering his mouth, not to muffle a scream, but to hide his utter shock. His eyes widened.

Harry looked up, revealing the full extent of what several months of irregular sleep did to a young face. It seemed haggard, old, only the emerald itself, though sunken, had not changed.

Their expression was desperate, but Snape couldn't blame the underage wizard for that. Baring his weakness to a teacher who had mocked him for five years whenever there had been the slightest inkling of a flaw.

Carefully, he stepped forward, crouched down a little (_Merlin, only a child_!) and laid a hand on his shoulder saying softly, "I will make sure these dreams will not bother you anymore. I don't know yet how to adjust your shields, but I will find a way. That is a promise, Harry." He did not give promises lightly; it was the third he'd ever given in the course of his life.

Wide-eyed, the haggard face stared back, "But, sir! All those people, I can't just let them suffer alone…"

"I will not pretend to understand what you feel when you watch them, but to be an Empath is not to give yourself up, which is what you're doing right now. You need sleep, just like every other being acquiring breath," he spoke sternly but softly, hoping the child would be accepting.

He wasn't. Green eyes flashed sharply, "What it feels like? I still can't tell you what's worse, the despair and fear of the victims or that pleasure the Death Eaters feel when they are at their worst, and I've been watching this every night for several months. All I know is that when I let my shields wrap around those poor soul's minds, they don't suffer as much. How could anyone be so selfish by not trying to help?" That hit a nerve the Potions Master hadn't anticipated. He inhaled sharply, his Occlumency shields firmly in place.

"I am helping, Potter, I am helping by doing everything in my power to stop the Dark Lord, but that inquires me to watch and do _nothing_," he hissed. Too many faces, whose names he sometimes knew and sometimes didn't, passed his inner eye as he stared at the young man in front of him. His anger flooded away as soon as it had overpowered him when he saw the boy lowering his head.

"That's not what I meant, sir, I know how dangerous it is what you're doing," the words were spoken deadly serious and a bit tired, "I was only referring to myself. I know what's out there beyond these walls. Do you want me to be clueless like everybody else, read the Daily Prophet in the morning to see what Voldemort did the night before?"

"If it allows you to sleep soundly? Yes, I would prefer that over seeing you in this state," Snape answered much more calmly than he had seconds ago. He regretted his harsh words and was glad to see that the boy seemed to understand.

The pale face looked up, "May I please reapply my glamour, sir? I feel more comfortable with them, sir." All he did was nod.

Harry waved his wand casually looking as proficient as he had to be with this spell. A moment later, the glamour presented the person the boy could be, had he just enough sleep.

"Why not cover up the scar?" he couldn't help but ask, while in the meanwhile trying to gather his thoughts.

The boy didn't sleep enough.

He had to witness gruesome scenes every night.

He felt responsible for his godfather's death… and, come to think of it, Cedric Diggory's as well.

He was an Empath.

There was the Prophecy to worry about.

Somewhere in between, Harry had lost all sense of self-worth resulting in a timid, overly modest young man. He'd have to regain his confidence for he had many excellent qualities; someone simply had to remind him of them.

Their antagonistic past (_'That was mainly caused by your bitter hostility_,' his voice of reason kindly reminded him.) would have to be discussed as well.

What shouldn't be forgotten either were Harry's talents in Occlumency, Legilimency, or, remembering Flitwick's comments, Charms.

The boy needed the opportunity to train them all without fearing instant information of the Dark Lord and without fearing that he might hurt his friends, meaning the DA was out of question.

The neglect he'd suffered in his early childhood certainly had left its mark on the boy as well.

The Blood Quill did leave its mark.

It was too much. There was no way he could deal with all this by himself…

And remain the Order's spy.

"Which?"

The question took him aback, and he looked at the underage wizard.

Cold, he felt so terribly cold when he voiced his next question, "Did your relatives hurt you, Harry?"

Lily's eyes stared at him like a deer caught in the spotlight. The entire body stiffened and Severus had the urge to have a little, unpleasant _chat_ with the child's relatives and explain to them in all necessary tranquillity that spy or not, he had received the Dark Mark twenty years ago, and that he had the sudden desire to practise his skills once again.

"No," the boy said quietly, shaking his head vehemently, "They never…"

"They merely locked you in a cupboard." Harry just gulped at the neutral statement.

"They didn't lock me, I mean… Only if I did something bad."

Oh, how much he despised that part, children defending their families who'd done them nothing but ill.

"It was your room, Harry," for some reason the child's name slipped over his tongue a lot more easily than it had a few days ago. It took away every bit of bile the name 'Potter' still caused, "Surely, you understand that a cupboard is not an appropriate place for a child to grow up…"

"They didn't _abuse_ me, sir," there was an edge to the verb Snape was unable to fathom, "So what if they didn't like me? They never wanted me in the first place," '_Oh, child!_' He knew the boy had meant to sound bitter, but it was too desperate in the first place, "They never hit me or anything, not really, not after…" Lips sealed within seconds. Harry had obviously said too much.

Oh yes, it was time to resume to his Death Eater habits, he'd always wanted to hex Petunia and Harry unknowingly put fuel into the fire.

"After?"

"Nothing, sir. They never hit me," the right fist curled almost imperceptibly, "I mean, yes, Dudley did, but that's just…"

"Your cousin who's been pursuing a game he decided to name Harry-Hunting," Snape completed the sentence for him, though the look on the underage wizard clearly stated that he wouldn't have said it like this, "Their treatment of you isn't acceptable, Harry, even if they did not physically manhandle you," his voice clearly stated that he didn't believe him that part, "Having a cupboard for a room isn't in any way acceptable for a child. How long have you been living in that _space_?"

"After the first letter… You know this, sir, or at least Professors McGonagall and especially Dumbledore know this. The letter was addressed to _'the cupboard under the stairs…_' They must have seen this," the teenager sounded like a small child, when his voice croaked.

Surely, he didn't think…

'_Professor McGonagall told me to lay low…'_

_Oh no! No, please!_

This would break Minerva. She'd never forgive herself, ever.

For the son of her favourite pupil (he had to admit through gritted teeth) and her dear friend to assume that the abuse he'd suffered in his childhood was known to her… He'd have to tell her, but, Merlin, he didn't want to be the messenger.

His head started to hurt; the child in front of him gave him a migraine, simply thinking about all the issues swirling around in the boy's mind made him feel dizzy.

All of a sudden, he felt a presence entering his mind causing him to react instinctively. His shields went up full-force, but to his horror the presence danced around them as if they were nothing.

"Calm down, sir," his pupil whispered urgently closing his eyes again.

Harry would never know just for how much he'd asked with the seemingly small request.

For Snape to entrust his very mind to another human being, to risk everything…

And yet, he gave in to the pleading tone. He owed the boy. Desperately trying to tune out fear, the Potions Master closed his eyes.

It was a strange sensation, as if someone had wrapped a blanket around him: he slowly warmed up from the inside out.

His heart-rate slowed down, his breaths were less shallow… Then, he felt calm and the presence was gone.

His list of priorities was once again running havoc. Occlumency and Legilimency suddenly seemed so much more important…

"Sir, please, try to relax a little," Harry's voice shook him out of his reflections and he looked down into emerald that seemed too wise for the teenager possessing them, "You seemed shaken and I just wanted to help you calm down."

"By entering my mind?" This was ridiculous, how could such an invasion pacify anyone?

Well, the blanket-like sensation had felt relaxing, but still…

"It usually calms people, very few are as attuned to mind magic as you are, sir. I apologize. I should have seen what kind of effect this would have on you. The only person to ever feel anything, was Professor Dumbledore, and he accepted it, I guess because he trusts me." '_And you don't_,' that statement floated unspoken between them.

"What have you done?" he asked sounding harsher than intended.

"I've already told you, sir." It was less a statement than a question.

"Then, explain again and, please, go a bit more into detail."

"Well, I… As long as your Occlumency shields are up full-force I don't even have to attempt entering your mind, sir. Either you'd block me, throw me out, or, as you'll have to do with Voldemort, mislead me. However, you were distressed, causing your shields to slip and, at first, that wasn't a problem, I let you be, but then you suddenly seemed to be so terribly pained and, very much unlike you, you lost your calm, that's when I decided to step in. Therefore, I entered your mind to soothe the pain. I didn't anticipate your reaction. People usually are unable to feel me enter."

"I used Occlumency, how could you get past that?" he forced his voice to sound even.

Invasion, intrusion, manipulation… The boy was capable of all that, but he didn't seem to be tempted in the least.

"But you still felt, I merely had to follow your emotions."

'_Follow my…?'_ Merlin, this boy gave him a headache. Instead of voicing his horror, he asked neutrally, "That warming sensation…"

"That's my shields, sir, when I wrap them around somebody like a blanket. I mean, I could go deeper, but that would be an invasion. I don't want to change what a person feels, I just want them to suffer less."

But he could, Merlin, he could…

If the Ministry ever came to know the extent of Harry Potter's abilities, they would arrest him on the spot.

Or worse.

He didn't want to know for sure what lengths Skawn was ready to go. Fudge had been a coward, and he'd allowed the use of an Unforgivable on several students. Skawn was not exactly known to be merciful; the similarities between him and Crouch Senior were numerous.

"Sir?" So innocent. Why did those green eyes have to be so innocent?

"You do understand that what you're doing is dangerous, Mr Potter?" Snape spoke softly.

"Yes, sir, I am well aware. That is why I'm careful never to actually _enter_ their hearts, I'm working around it, a bit like putting on a band-aid than actually heal it. I think I could do more harm than good if I tried. What I do isn't much, but they seem to calm down. Except for you and for that I'm sorry. I should have anticipated it."

'_Half a year of helping desperate minds would never prepare you to aid a cold heart_.'

"It disconcerted me, Mr Potter, but since you are aware of it… Are you?" He still couldn't believe it.

"Heart and body should belong to one person only, no matter what they do with it," emerald shifted again and its expression resembled an old man, "I've been possessed," a horrified shudder, "I will _never_ do this to anybody… Well, Voldemort, maybe, but I'd be suicidal trying that, but everybody else? No, not even Bellatrix, or what's left of her anyway. The same goes for Pettigrew." It didn't matter just how much Harry hated Dolores Umbridge, it was nothing compared to what he felt for those who'd taken everything from him.

'_And who belongs into the categories of traitors and murderers as well, Severus?'_ no longer able to look at the boy, he turned around.

He was too damaged, too deeply involved with darkness, the Dark Lord, the boy's parents' death. He simply couldn't do this, not without hurting the boy if the truth came to light.

Anyway, he'd keep his promise. The boy's dream would stop, one way or another.

"I'm a mess, aren't I, sir?" there was no amusement in Harry's tone and it caused him to turn around. Even with the glamour in place, the child looked unbearably tired.

"Given the circumstances, Mr Potter, I can't think of any person in your situation to be any less of a mess than you are now," he replied quietly, "You are too young for the burden you carry and yet, you do. It takes a lot to gain my respect, Harry, but I can congratulate you on gaining it." It was so hard admitting this, but when he saw the short moment of shier bliss on Harry's face, he knew that it had been the right thing to do, "Unfortunately, I don't know how to take away your pain, but I'll try to grab a blanket somewhere."

The allusion to his own endeavours made Harry's lips twitch a bit, "I'd appreciate the effort, sir."

What followed was a moment of comfortable silence, when Harry checked his watch.

"Oh, I was supposed to meet Ron and Hermione ten minutes ago," it was oddly good to see Harry behaving like a normal teenager, when he frantically looked around, not out of fear but the bad conscience one felt for having forgotten an appointment with friends, "Sir, thank you for the information… And, well, I…"

"You'll be hearing from me in the course of today, if not through Chita then by the Headmaster. There are many things to be discussed, but for now I think it is best to meet with your friends," he stated firmly. The child thanked him and walked towards the office door quickly.

"Mr Potter?" he called him back. Harry stopped dead and turned around.

"You've just been meeting with the – How do your friends like to call me? Ah yes… - Greasy Git from the dungeons, so please, try to school your features accordingly." Immediately, he scolded himself for sounding so insensitive. Sarcasm was not what the boy needed at the moment! Rarely had he felt more disqualified than now, after having promised Harry to help him.

To his great surprise, emerald sparkled and a smile flashed, before it turned into an angry scowl, "Better, sir?" and within a second the smile was back again.

"If you can keep up the former, yes, very convincing." He couldn't believe he was cracking jokes with the boy, who'd just revealed quite a bit of the burden he carried. When the door closed behind the teenager, he remembered how Chita had used to amuse him after a particularly strenuous night of spying in the summer.

Sometimes, humour was the only thing a soldier had to keep going. And soldiers they both were.

Harry was too young for this.

Before really thinking about what he was doing, he was at the fireplace, nonverbally created a fire and threw Floo-powder into it.

"The Headmaster's office," he stated clearly.

* * *

Meanwhile, many miles away, in an Alley in London, only famous to those, who knew where it was, the most feared wizard of all time was waiting patiently in the shadows.

People were so easy to fool. Even his own followers.

It was so simple, really. The great mind didn't need to rest, only the body grew tired, the minds of the weak could grow tired as well, but _his _mind never did.

It never had. At first, a very long time ago, he had thought it to be a curse, his brilliant mind, stuck in a boy's body that needed so much rest, several hours a night. He'd started to experiment over the years trying to find a way of putting his body to rest, while his mind, magic and soul were allowed to wander. It had taken him twenty years until he'd finally found the perfect solution.

So simple, so ingenious, but, oh, so difficult after all!

Not even he could have possibly known that _this_ would save his life one day, the knowledge to separate the mind from the body.

Oh, that night had weakened him, much more so than anybody would ever know. The killing curse had ripped his self apart, had destroyed the body, and it had taken so much energy to fight it off and yet, he'd lived!

He'd managed where every other being had failed, in his endless quest for eternity, for his mind to live forever.

Not even _the boy_ knew. Harry Potter, who'd managed to connect their minds, not even he had seen…

His Death Eaters thought he was only awake at night unless he summoned them at daylight. Those fools truly believed he had to rest like a common Muggle.

It was an advantage, of course, to separate the mind from the body, to stay awake at all time with the exception of two hours around sunrise and sunset, when he rested to change.

He chuckled.

It was so inconvenient to look like a snake, when one wanted to wander watching the clueless faces… So, he'd needed two bodies, one to instil fear into the hearts of the fools daring to fight him, and one not even the old coot knew about.

The body to wander at day, unless he met with his Death Eaters…

His thoughts drifted back to that night on Halloween more than fifteen years ago. If only he'd have been able to obtain a body then. There had been the child, and he'd tried, but the agony had kept him from remaining in the body for long.

History had repeated itself half a year ago in the Ministry of Magic.

He had not attempted touching the dead bodies for he knew for how long the killing curse remained in the dead… forty-eight hours. His first contact with the mighty _Avada Kedavra_ had been the fruitless attempt of possessing the body of a mentor he'd killed.

His first try to gain a second body.

Halloween had left him with little power and energy, he'd had to flee before the Aurors would storm Godric's Hallow, slowly abandoning the idea of ever possessing a body again, when none of his followers came.

Luckily, animals were lesser creatures to possess and they kept him alive, until he'd met Quirrel.

Such a fool and, oh, so helpful! But he'd been too weak. He wanted the body, but had been unable to control it. It had been so frustrating; it still pained him to think about having once felt so powerless.

Then he'd been able to create a body, once again…

Flesh, Blood and Bone… He'd regained his strength; his magical power was restored, when his body had returned to him.

He'd hoped to destroy Tom in the process, but once again he'd been forced to obtain his father's bones. At least, the ordinary was kept to a minimum this time.

But what was a body if not only flesh and bone? Oh, he preferred the features of the extraordinary, the scary, the terror, but it hindered him in achieving his more cunning goals.

And that was why he'd needed another body without being dependent on Polyjuice Potion… or spell.

Ever since having restored his body, regained his power, he'd let his mind wander at day in the quest of finding another shell for the brilliance of his being. Nagini had been a wonderful aid, guarding her master's body, while he went in search of the perfect shell…

Ten months ago, he'd found it, so perfect… A wizard without family never having attended to Hogwarts or any other of the great schools such as Beauxbatons or Durmstrang, but a small institute in Poland. Unobtrusive but intelligent, the young man had received the highest grades in all his classes and was allowed to complete his education as Auror in the Magical Law Enforcement Squad…

Perfect.

People would never suspect this body to be the shell of the greatest wizard of all time, and that was why it was safer than risking his life by possessing one of influence.

Oh, he wanted to rule the Wizarding World, but currently, there was no character with enough power to do so, and therefore it was better to possess one that was not always watched… Dominating from the inside-out was tempting, but also a testimony of weakness.

He wanted the world to crawl before him, not oblivious to what happened to them.

But his other, his true body needed rest, and, as much as it vexed him to admit, he needed distance from the ever-lasting presence of the little boy.

Harry Potter could no longer see through his eyes, mind you, but _Flesh, Blood and Bone_ had connected the boy's mind to his restored body much more closely than he'd wanted. Of course, the boy was never supposed to survive this long.

Harry Potter… He hated the boy. He wanted to kill him, he wanted to crush him, but he was out of reach. Though the mind was closer to him than any other, it was also the farthest away for he could not stand its presence. At least, ever since practising Occlumency he could be sure of having gained some distance between them.

All he wanted was one mere second.

One spell…

And the boy would no longer vex him.

"Shiva," one of his 'colleagues' called him. Nymphadora Tonks, a peculiar lady, and to his great joy, a member of Dumbledore's Order.

A Metamorphmagus of tremendous power and of noble stock. He still hoped to attract her to the Dark Arts for cruelty could be learned and the Light would waste her exceptional talent.

"Yes?" he asked kindly. He'd still have to get used to the softness in his voice, when obtaining this particular body. Not unlike his real body, this one was tall and slim, though much more muscular. The soul and body obtaining it first had been destroyed in the face of the Fifth _Indicendi_, it had been the first time to use it in over thirty years. A horrifyingly powerful curse he only used to achieve his most important goals… And to finally break Bellatrix's tendencies _not to obey_ when he'd told her not to touch the prisoners. However, its effect had been shocking enough... He would use this particular curse only if a necessity.

"Come on," she called with a happy smile; today she wore her hair purple. A very interesting choice, "I want to introduce you to some friends before we have another training session this afternoon. They're hammering us with them, don't you think?"

"We are at war, Dora," Voldemort warned her quietly. He didn't care for her to live, would kill her on the spot, should she ever have the smallest suspicions of his true face, but then again, playing the responsible one of their young team had become his role.

Never matter, they'd all be dead should he decide otherwise.

"Yeah, I know, but still, it's Saturday! We deserve some time off," her clouded eyes contradicted her smile, "Come on!"

Calmly, he followed her through the Alley. It had been so long since he'd last seen Diagon Alley… The only place he missed more was Hogwarts.

But this place had been the first touch he'd had with magic that wasn't his own. It always caused him to feel a bit melancholic.

"Ah, yes," Tonks said, as she saw him looking about the stores, "This is your first time visiting Diagon Alley. They gave you quite a boring desk job the first few months until they finally got you in our team a month ago, right? It's usually a bit more joyful around here, you know. Not so sinister, you should have been here two years ago. It was so colourful."

She didn't understand. This was beautiful.

The owners' fear, fear of even whispering to each other.

"I wish I had seen it back then," he lied smoothly.

His first three weeks at the Ministry had been dull indeed with his desk covered in different sheets of parchment for he'd been told to write reports on small curse incidents.

But the Ministry's ignorance had served its purpose.

He'd risen fast and, due to his intelligence, had soon received access to the Ministry's secret archives concerning dark magic, access he couldn't even dream of having had he been in his original body.

He was a mere Auror trainee and Cursebreaker, too low to be noticed by anybody.

Patiently, he'd minded his business until they'd put him into training two month ago, a month later, he was transferred to a subdivision of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, fully trained Aurors to become members of the Squad itself.

The Magical Law Enforcement Squad, specially trained Aurors. The best.

Sometimes, he had to suppress a laugh, thinking those wizards and witches were ready to train him in order to face… him.

Piotr had taught him the very move he'd used to restrain him. He'd done it just to see if he'd notice… He hadn't.

It was fascinating to see what the side of the Light learned in order to stop Darkness.

Sometimes, it wasn't so different from dark magic at all.

"Here it is," she said presenting a shop earning nothing of the dull shop fronts around them.

_Why Are You Worrying About You-Know-Who?_

_You SHOULD Be Worrying About_

_U-NO-POO-_

_the Constipation Sensation That's Gripping the Nation!_

Amused, his lips curled into a small smile. It had taken him a while to make his laughter warmer, so he could fool the others of its sincerity.

He did respect courage, though.

That thought in mind, he followed Tonks into the shop, where its owners were talking to each other.

Weasleys.

Of course, this had to be the twins, Fred and George Weasley.

"What a great joy!" the one to the right exclaimed, approaching them and bowed, "Customers! What may we do for you, fair lady?" he asked the young witch mockingly.

"Shut up! I wanted to introduce you to somebody. Fred, George, this is Viatus Shivalewski, he belongs to my training squad. We call him Shiva. Shiva, these are Fred and George Weasley, just don't ask me, which one is which. That surpasses my abilities," Tonks grinned at him, and again he forced his lips to curl into a convincing smile.

"_Es ist mir ein Vergnügen_," his German was smooth and flawless unlike his Polish, which was why he'd decided to claim that his origin was North-East of Germany.

"I'm sorry?" one of the twins asked a little puzzled.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he repeated, "Forgive me, but formalities always throw me back to my roots."

They were talking about business and the weather, but of course, the Order wasn't mentioned with a single word. His hand softly curled around his wand, when he heard two strangers approaching. It relaxed, when he saw George (it was rather simple to tell them apart really once they'd said their names for their magical signature varied) smile.

"Dad! Bill!" he exclaimed as the door opened behind 'Shiva.'

Once again, introductions were made, until soon after, Voldemort decided to remain silent, while watching the family scene.

The family, Harry Potter seemed to have become a part of, as well. He had the desire to kill them all and if only to see that boy losing all will to live, just as he had that night after his godfather had died.

How he'd recovered from that, he'd never know, but he'd lived, thwarting his plans once again.

"Have you heard?" Bill Weasley suddenly spoke up, "Fenrir Greyback has killed yet another family, yesterday. The only survivor was a boy, whom he'd bitten. Bastard!"

But so terribly useful.

"That he is," 'Shiva' commented truthfully.

Several eyes were directed at him as if they had forgotten his presence.

Oh, how much he wished to be in his true body for they would have never forgotten him then.

"_Verzeihung_… I apologize, I did not mean to _unterbre…_ interrupt," his words were spoken quietly, humble and carefully chosen. People were so easily manipulated if they didn't look for red eyes.

"No need to apologize," Bill Weasley said promptly, "The truth can always be spoken without punishment."

'_If I wanted to I could kill you all before you'd ever know…'_

No, the truth could not always be spoken without punishment.

"You are the Cursebreaker of the trainee Squad, Tonks said," Bill looked intrigued, "What does a Cursebreaker do, there?"

"If we are called because of a suspicious item, or when there are reports about people behaving strangely, the Cursebreaker is supposed to find potential curses and, if it was a curse, cancel it, which is not always possible."

It usually was, but he wasn't ready to share his tricks with the Aurors. He wasn't a simpleton.

"Fascinating," Bill whispered, "But you are already a trained Cursebreaker, what do you learn at the Squad?"

So noisy.

"I'm a Markswizard in training," he explained patiently, "A _Scharfschütze_… No, what's the word, I can't think of it… The Muggles have a term for it, but I only know the German one… Snapper, or something like this, our instructor said."

A Sniper.

However, being clumsy with the language always lead to underestimation and that was his goal today.

"It's his job to take out dangerous wizards from afar. Shiva here is able to take them out within a distance of three-hundred feet," Tonks quipped giving him a friendly push. He hated those touches, but he was willing to bear them.

He simply had to wait, he could torture and kill them all soon enough for every single time they'd lacked in propriety.

He schooled his features and actually managed to blush slightly, "Tonks…"

"Better you than me is all I'm saying… Remember that time I was supposed to hit Kyle, but ended up stunning three other Squad trainees instead?" he laughed his 'warm laugh' and nodded.

"We are late, Dora," he reminded her quietly. He didn't need a watch to know that sunset was only three hours away.

The schedule of an Auror trainee was perfect for him: sunrise to sunset, then he put his mind to rest by moving into his true body.

It was so simple, really…

Why were all humans fools but him, he mused, when they said goodbye to the Weasleys and left for another training session.

So educational, but undemanding.

Today, they would be trained by Howard, another victim on his list.

They'd said something about a small, specialized team searching for… Voldemort. He'd await them with pleasure…

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for all the encouraging reviews!

Unfortunately, today I really have no time at all, so I can't thank you in detail. But you've been extremely generous last chapter with reviews, I received SIXTEEN all in all. Thank you!

Please, review!

This chapter part is dedicated to Pellegrina, because a PM coversation with her inspired me.

Pellegrina: Ich glaube, Voldemort in meiner Geschichte ist grössenwahnsinning, aber nicht komplett übergeschnappt ;-) Die deutschen Sätze werden dir kaum Probleme bereiten ;-)


	25. The One Thing He'll Always Regret, Part3

**Chapter 13, Part Three: The One Thing He'll Always Regret**

While 'Viatus Shivalewski' was introduced to the Weasley, an important conversation took place between Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore in the latter wizard's office.

"Severus, my boy," the headmaster exclaimed in honest surprise when he saw who was stepping through the fireplace. He picked up the spectacles he'd taken off in order to read this particularly tiny written scroll on his desk, and put them on, "What leads you to me?"

The moment he'd finished his question, he saw the normally composed man glimpse toward the fireplace as if he was thinking of leaving again.

"I… I didn't mean to interrupt, Headmaster," it was rare to see Severus so hesitant and it started to worry the old wizard immediately, "What am I interrupting exactly?" The younger man's eyes glanced over the several stacks of parchment covering his desk.

"A rather fruitless attempt at receiving more information concerning the _Indicendi_ and at the same time the effort to modify the wards into a form of defence that would protect Harry without having to return to his relatives next summer. I've failed at both, I'm afraid."

Was that a flinch?

Dumbledore wasn't quite sure, but Severus definitely shrank a little bit and his eyes examined the fireplace with open longing. He didn't want to be here.

"Severus?"

For a moment, there was silence.

When the Potions Master spoke, it was a mere whisper, but its tone wasn't comparable to the imposing, almost intimidating and calm voice he used when he was talking to his students. It quivered slightly and though he didn't sound frightened, he clearly stated just how much he _didn't _want to speak.

"He thinks you knew about the abuse. The acceptance letter was apparently addressed to 'the cupboard under the stairs.' He firmly believes that you knew about the abuse."

He opened his mouth to speak, but when he noticed that he was unable to voice anything but utter shock, he closed it again.

He'd failed Harry; he knew that more profoundly than he'd ever be able to make amends for. He'd done nothing when he'd known that he wasn't treated _right_, that they were harsh to him, that they didn't treat him as a second son.

But surely, Harry didn't believe that he'd support the idea of him growing up in a cupboard, did he? His heart clenched.

"As they always do, he justifies their actions," this time the young wizard's whisper shook with anger as it always did when it came to domestic violence. Severus had yet to learn that words could hurt just as much as physical assaults, but he was unyielding when it came to latter, "When I asked him whether they'd hurt him, he didn't answer at first, but then stated – not as bluntly mind you, but clearly enough – that they didn't hit him _anymore_, only to deny it a moment later."

Albus Dumbledore wasn't a violent man. In his youth, he'd made several mistakes, first out of misled brilliance and later out of cowardice. He'd never been a violent person, though. He could therefore recall every single time he'd played with the thought of killing another being.

It hadn't happened a lot of times.

But right this moment, the urge to kill Vernon Dursley was hard to suppress.

Very hard.

_How dare he? _

Once again, he was inclined to repair the windows, though this time he didn't bother to reprimand himself. He'd gone way past the sentiment of regret. When he saw Severus actually walking towards the fireplace however, he managed to control his emotions well enough to resume the conversation.

It was remarkable how that young man in front of him could morph into a little boy when facing the fury of an older person he looked up to. It was heartbreaking, but at the same time fuel to his inner fire of rage.

His boys had been treated horribly by those who were supposed to protect them. And in both cases he'd failed. Only years later had he heard of Tobias Snape's abusive nature and Harry hadn't been under Vernon Dursley's hand in the first place hadn't it been for his ill judgment.

When Snape opened his mouth to speak again (still looking reluctant if not more than at the beginning), he halted in his actions and the headmaster had to follow his gaze to see what was wrong.

Fawkes looked furious.

Phoenixes were pacifists by nature. They didn't eat meat, they were gentle and they didn't kill. However, it was a terribly foolish idea to hurt their young.

He'd always known that Fawkes cared for Harry, was fiercely protective of him, but seeing the magical birds eyes' burn, he knew that, in a sense, his Familiar had adopted Harry.

Their eyes met and the old wizard shook his head.

Vernon Dursley would not be hurt, but there would be consequences. He would have to pay for his crimes, the burning eyes in front of the headmaster were saying as much.

Their mutual promise caused them to calm down to the point that they were able to listen to Severus again.

Later he'd wish he didn't.

"The fact he believes you, and Minerva," he added as an afterthought causing the older wizard's chest to tighten even more intensively, "Knew about his relatives led to… caused another…" Again Severus stopped talking and seemed to be looking for the right words. Hogwarts' headmaster started to dread the man's lack of eloquence, "He…" A sigh, his entire body was tense. He took one deep breath and continued, "Dolores Umbridge used a Blood Quill on thirty-two students, though only Harry was subjected to it more than twice. It scarred in his case." Dumbledore sat frozen behind his desk; his face a mask, his blue eyes darker than his young colleague had ever seen him. The Potions professor gulped and stated quietly, "_I must not tell lies_."

The old man couldn't sit anymore. Briskly, he rose from his seat causing the former Death Eater to flinch and take a step back, but for once the perceptive man didn't notice it.

His eyes wide, his left hand covered the lower part of his face. His breath was shallow, ragged as if his body had forgotten how keep itself alive. He felt his limbs grow weak, but he couldn't sit down.

Restlessness was not a feeling he was accustomed to, but judging by what he'd just heard, he knew that he would not regain his calm for quite a while.

Anger quickly morphing into rage arrived late, but more severe than before. Nothing exploded, though.

This was different.

His body was tense, within the blue eyes was a raging storm for once looking so dark they almost seemed black. Had Dolores Umbridge sat in this very office, she would no longer be alive. But she didn't.

Instead, a petrified, young man stood in front of him. Dumbledore could very well remember the last time, Severus had looked as scared. The only difference was that he'd dropped to his knees that time, fifteen years ago.

'_Don't kill me.'_

Dumbledore's shoulders sunk at the sight of such fear. Still, after so many years, after Severus had practically accepted him as a substitute father (or maybe because of it), he was still afraid of his ire. That knowledge hurt enough to replace his anger with an uneasy emotion he was not used to.

It took him a moment to name it.

Helplessness.

Weakly, he let himself fall into his chair.

"I'm taking care of it," Snape said after feeling reassured that there wouldn't be any attack. His face displayed determination and barely suppressed anger.

This was a promise.

Dolores Umbridge would not get out of this unscathed.

"I'd very much like to contribute," Dumbledore replied surprising them both.

An almost imperceptible smirk was formed by the Potions professor, though his eyes looked very sad and, unfortunately, apprehensive still, "Let a Slytherin take care of this, Headmaster."

"And who exactly told you what House I was in, Severus? I used to be a very ambitious young man, not to mention very gifted," he replied with a small smile on his own, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Once again, he dreaded what was about to come for he sensed this wasn't all.

As if it wasn't bad enough already.

The Potions Master grew very serious, "Albus, everything is under control. She will pay, you have my word, but for now she's irrelevant."

Surprised, Dumbledore lifted his eyebrows. Severus rarely gave his word and the promise was surprising in itself. Much more unsettling was his last statement. This wasn't over, he was about to hear more alarming things than a former teacher using an Unforgivable on their students without their knowledge ('_Harry is scarred by a Blood Quill. Merlin, what did you do, Dolores? What did I do? Why did I let this happen?'_).

The young man continued, unlike his former statement, this was a mere whisper, "He's dying, Albus. He's not sick," he immediately added at the older wizard's shocked expression, "Well, not… He's a mere ghost of the boy he used to be or rather, whom I think he used t…" Frustrated, he sighed, lowered his head and when he looked up, his expression was emotionless. Severus had just activated every Occlumency shield he possessed ridding himself of all emotion.

That was the face of the Death Eater who Apparated by Voldemort's right at least once a week. For the first time, the creator of the Order had a fair idea of what his spy had to feel when the Dark Mark burned.

"Mr Potter does not sleep enough," even his voice sounded cold, void of all emotion. It scared Albus. "You knew this already, you are aware that he is an Empath as well, but, to be frank, neither of us had a fair idea of what the total want of a full night's sleep did to him. He puts on glamour, most likely every day anew, to hide his condition, but, Headmaster, he looks like Black after having escaped from Azkaban." The oh-so-wise man didn't know what to say. He gasped in horror, but the young man continued seemingly untouched, "I admit to have been mistaken about the boy's character, but this year, he has displayed character treats that worry me: he has no concept of self-worth, worse even, he feels responsible for the mutt's death and, if I'm not completely mistaken, Cedric Diggory's also. Irony has it that the only reason he's still sane, seems to be the fact that he intends to stop the Dark Lord, otherwise he might have killed himsel…"

"Severus, stop it!" Dumbledore exclaimed in a desperate attempt to sort his thoughts.

He knew that these words weren't a lie. They'd been spoken without emotion, but the fact that Severus had been forced to resort to Occlumency to give his report calmly spoke volumes about the kind of distress Lily's formerly best friend had to feel.

His own thoughts were twisting and turning like an enraged snake, his heart on the other hand almost seemed to stop for it hurt too much to think, to feel. For a moment, he wished his form of Occlumency would allow him to retreat like Severus'. On the other hand, he hardly believed to deserve peace.

Severus' mask fell the moment Dumbledore had cried out. He looked so much younger now. He seemed uncertain, shy and frustrated at the same time, "I don't know what to do or say to the boy, Albus. Everything seems wrong… I can't. If he starts to trust me…"

"He already does trust you, otherwise he wouldn't have told you."

'_He never told me.' _This thought mainly made him feel sad and guilty for not having tried harder, but if he was honest with himself, there was a tad bit of that bitter taste of jealousy he couldn't quite suppress.

Only to feel ashamed a second later.

If there was one person in the world not receiving enough credit, it was Severus. The fact Harry acknowledged this should make him happy. And strangely, it did.

But yes, he was a tad bit jealous.

"I killed his parents," the former Death Eater practically hissed, "I'm the last person he should get close to." The conviction in his words made the old man pause.

He'd not been kind to Severus that night Lily had died. He'd displayed behaviour bordering on mockery back then by asking him to remember Lily's eyes. He'd never told him that, despite all his mistakes, he'd only been a small piece of the puzzle. Compared to his own mistakes, Severus was practically an innocent when it came to the Potters' death.

He stood up again, moved around his desk and firmly laid both of his hands on the other man's shoulder, "Their death was not your fault, Severus."

A sound escaped the Potions professor's lips that Dumbledore was unable to interpret.

"Good try, Headmaster. You might want to say this to Harry, though."

Frantically, the wise wizards tried to recall the last time Severus had called Harry by his first name. He was quite sure that it slipped over his tongue more and more often every time they met. He spoke the name so much softer than 'Potter.'

For the first time since Severus had started to talk, Dumbledore felt something akin to happiness, but it was quickly replaced by the wary feeling of not having anticipated the amount of his young colleague's guilt.

He should have intervened earlier… The Order's spy might have tried to connect with Harry much sooner.

As it seemed to be cruel irony, it was yet another mistake on Harry's costs.

To be cared for by Albus Dumbledore was a curse much more than a gift.

"Severus…"

"I've been treating the boy like the dirt beneath my boots, Headmaster!" the younger wizard exclaimed, "For five years, I've been mistreating him, I have contributed to his utter lack of self-worth and I can't even say that I did not mean to do it for it was actually my goal! I wanted him to show that he was less than he thought himself to be," a bitter laugh escaped the younger man's lips, "If I'd known how little this was to begin with I'd have never tried, but I was blind. How exactly do you expect _me_, me of all people to help a child whose life I made much harder than necessary in the first place?"

"Severus, if every adult, who either hurt or neglected Harry in the past would not be allowed to help him now, there would hardly anybody left to help him…"

"Molly and Arthur…"

"Are excellent people, but they've had seven children already, and they don't know much about Harry's hardships in life, or rather, only as much as Ronald does, which, frankly, is not enough," Dumbledore stated firmly.

"What do you suggest?" Severus felt helpless; he seemed to have shrunk a bit. A feeling the famous wizard could relate to very well.

"I don't know," he answered truthfully.

For a moment there was silence before the Potions Master spoke again. The way his eyes were fixed on the wall in front of him, showed just how deeply he was lost in thought.

"We failed him, the all of us. Maybe, we simply have to accept this and seek redemption."

_Forgiveness._

Severus craved for it, but didn't ever think to deserve it. Instead, he was always talking of redemption, making past wrongs right.

"We can't change the past, but we can change the future. Harry needs to sleep, first of all, otherwise his body will fail him sooner rather than later. Then, he needs to train, his abilities in Mind Magic in particular. He needs to have the opportunity to practise without the Dark Lord finding out about this the same day. He also has to learn that he is not responsible for his godfather's death. Besides, he's not a fool. He knows what the Prophecy means and it will weigh heavily on his heart."

It was rare to hear Severus speak so much, especially with his voice full of determination that bordered on passion.

It was good to hear him like this. The prospect of helping Harry was like a Healing Solution on a nasty cut, it soothed the pain in his heart.

They started to discuss, throwing around ideas and dismissing them.

Nearly an hour later, the older wizard wondered why Severus was so insistent in claiming that he was unfit as a teacher, or parent. The way he spoke of Harry and how he wanted to make sure the child would not give himself up, proved just how much he cared.

What surprised him a bit was just how reluctant Severus was at involving anyone else but Minerva and Filius.

Especially at the mention of Remus Lupin, a derisive snort was uttered by the intelligent man, "He avoids Harry. According to the boy, he simply cannot bear Black's death… He won't be any help. He thought merely telling the boy once that the mutt's death wasn't his fault would be sufficient. Besides, he's otherwise involved."

"Otherwise involved?" he knew he sounded a bit sceptical, but in this case nobody would blame him. Why would Severus approach a Marauder?

"The retribution on Miss Umbridge, Headmaster. He's a part of my plans."

For Harry. Severus had approached one of his greatest school rivals to serve the boy justice. Dumbledore wasn't too fond of the kind of retribution Severus would undoubtedly bestow on the witch, but for once he didn't try to control the Order's spy's actions too much.

However, one thing he wanted to make sure, "Do not have her killed, Severus."

"I won't, but she will suffer the very same thing she tried to do to Harry," his lips formed a straight line.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Severus," Dumbledore replied frowning.

"'_I must not tell lies_.' Harry can resist the power of the Blood Quill's curse, but he pays a price for it. He told me that it is more difficult than before to say anything but the truth. He struggles whenever he's not entirely honest. His right hand balls into a fist… Because of that woman, he couldn't even lie to the Dark Lord's face," the last words were hissed, before his voice once again was calm, collected and cold, "She has to pay and since Harry is an Empath, she'll be struck down by her own methods."

'_To hurt an Empath is to hurt thyself.'_ He'd heard of that potion and it didn't surprise him in the slightest that Severus had heard of that too.

"I will trust you to do what's right, my boy," the old wizard said gently. The younger man's mistakes were not as numerous as his own were. Surely, he counted quite a few years more, but for now, Albus Dumbledore didn't trust himself when it came to Harry Potter and everything happening around him. Not anymore.

But he would regain that trust (he _would _make himself worthy of caring for Harry Potter), and Severus' thoughts on helping Harry might just be enough to accomplish this.

Dumbledore's soft warning was heard and acknowledged by the Potions Master with a brisk nod. "How do you plan on calling Harry?" Severus inquired.

Dumbledore smiled, though the sparkle in his eyes hadn't returned just yet. He didn't need to say anything for Fawkes had already spread his wings and was gone a moment later.

They were both silent until Fawkes returned.

People always wondered how he communicated with his Familiar. It was a special form of Mind Magic, really. Fawkes conveyed his thoughts through feelings and sounds, hardly any pictures. Musing about Harry's own way of creating his shields made him wonder whether this was one of the reasons why Fawkes was so fond of the sixteen-year-old.

"Harry will be arriving here in about twenty minutes," he told Severus. Over the years, he'd learned to read the shier variety of sounds his Familiar uttered. It was a language of its own.

"Sit down in the meanwhile, Severus," Dumbledore said and gestured towards the chair on the other side of his desk.

The following twenty minutes were spent in together in silence. That was not such an unusual occurrence for them, but normally this was a lot less uncomfortable.

Both were thinking about that young man that was about to enter the office any second, both were hung up on their own personal world of guilt when it came to that boy.

Generally, when silence became uncomfortable, it was the older wizard who'd start a conversation. Today, it was the Potions professor.

It was just that, despite the many talents Severus possessed, small-talk definitely wasn't one of them.

"Do you think he'll accept?" he sounded sceptical.

"As long as we listen to his own needs and fears, things we might not have anticipated, I am sure." So far, he'd made the decisions and simply ordered Harry to follow through his plans and every time, it had ended in a disaster. Last year had been the ultimate proof.

Harry, though still a child, had experienced enough (_'I've seen enough, I've done enough! I want out!'_) to make his decisions independently.

A gentle knock at the door startled them both and Severus rose from his seat.

"Please, enter," Dumbledore said gently.

"Hello, sir," Harry said quietly as he entered. When he spotted Severus, he smiled a little, "Good to see you again, Professor."

"Mr Potter," Severus merely replied. He looked at the headmaster asking for permission to start, which he received, "I hope we did not interrupt the meeting with your friends." Never had Dumbledore heard the Potions professor speak so kindly to Harry.

The lack of surprise in the boy's face and the small smile the inquiry formed indicated that it wasn't for the first time, "We were just going back to the castle when Fawkes appeared, sir. You didn't interrupt us." Then, the smile disappeared and was replaced by a wary look, "Why am I here, sir?"

"The headmaster had to hear about your condition."

The moment the words were uttered, Harry's face lost colour in shock before the green eyes looked hurt in anger and betrayal.

It had had been the wrong thing to say.

"Had I seen any other possibility, I wouldn't have done it, Harry," Severus spoke solemnly. Harry, who'd opened his mouth to speak, closed it the moment his first name was spoken.

That name from the Potions Master's lips held power. It was remarkable how easily a little bit of kindness on Severus' part was able to cut through one's defence. Much more easily than any scathing comment ever could.

Harry looked away, avoided the headmaster's gaze and it pained Dumbledore as if someone had stabbed a knife into his heart.

He wanted to ask why he hadn't come to him, wanted to ask why he hadn't told anyone. Unfortunately, he already knew the answer to that question. Another wave of helplessness overcame him and he started to despise the feeling.

But of course, the Empath would pick up on that. Harry's expression confused, he turned around, met his gaze, only to avoid it again. The unspoken question had been heard and the answer was, "I just… You'd have tried to make it better," Harry explained quietly, intensely examining the ground he stood on, "And I don't deserve that."

Quicker than either Harry or Snape could react, Dumbledore walked around his desk and kneeled down in front of Harry, for once looking shorter than the underage wizard.

"I apologize, Harry," he said firmly, he knew his eyes were glimmering slightly for he could feel the tears wallowing up inside, "I was a fool to leave you alone after Cedric's death, but it is unforgivable for having done the same when Sirius died," Harry flinched and looked away, "I know you will not believe me right away, Harry, but no death that has occurred around you, is your fault. Not your parents', not Cedric's, not Sirius'. You didn't do it and you didn't want it to happen."

"But I…"

"Every single one of those deaths I've contributed more than you did. Does that make me their murderer?"

Harry shook his head, emerald glimmering with unshed tears, "No, sir."

"Then you are not, either," he said firmly, softly putting his hands on the lean shoulders. He could almost feel the lack of muscle around the boy's shoulders, but the glamour was rather sophisticated, the illusion went beyond looks… Which was not surprising in the least. Harry was not a person to rely merely on what he saw.

Harry nodded slowly, but he tried not to look at Dumbledore and the latter just knew this wasn't good enough to convince him, but it was a start.

"I don't think you've called me just to say this, sir," Harry said, still avoiding him.

It was Severus, who spoke again, "Mr Potter, you must understand that you cannot go on like this. If you continue, you don't have to fear that the Dark Lord will kill you; the lack of sleep will do it for him. My suggestion is that you spend this night in the hospital wing with a potion to provide you a dreamless sleep. To make sure your mind doesn't wander, I will stay close and make sure you don't drift." Surprised, Harry looked up, shaking his head slowly, "You are a child, Harry, and you desperately need sleep. The Dark Lord will not call me tonight. You know this for he said so yesterday. I cannot promise you it will work, but it's worth to try. Let me do this," he was silent before he added, "Please."

Dumbledore couldn't say what exact word had convinced Harry to nod, but he did, which was all that was important.

"Furthermore, you need to train without fear of hurting any of your fellow students or to being spied on by them. Which is why we suggest you to report every Sunday afternoon to Professor Dumbledore, who will be sending you to a room we plan on creating for you to train and study without fearing any consequences. Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick or myself will take care of these lessons. Our Occlumency lessons will continue to stand."

Harry looked as if someone had given him an early Christmas present, "Really? That would be great. My friends are good, mind you, but during the DA I'm supposed to teach, not study. It would be wonderful to train for once. Thank you, sir."

Briskly, Severus nodded and for the first time ever since the Order's spy had entered this office, the old man had to stifle his laughter. Those two were so alike when it came to the acceptance of gratitude it was almost painful to watch.

It wasn't surprising that they seemed to get along; it was surprising they hadn't gone along for so long.

"Professor Aikokyushin will not be taking part of this, Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked and since he was thereby looking at him, he didn't see Severus' expression.

He had not seen _that_ kind of emotion on the Potions Master's face for a long while: jealousy.

Now he knew why Severus had carefully avoided including anyone but Filius and Minerva into their plans. They had nothing to do with 'ensuring secrecy' as he'd said earlier. He was afraid Harry might start to rely on others more than the Potions Master.

Sometimes, Severus Snape was a very difficult man to understand.

So, yes, he had to stifle a laugh.

"If you want to, I think we can include him into this, Harry," the man counting more than a hundred years stated mildly. Thereby, he earned a sharp glance from his younger colleague.

"It's just his style is very different," Harry explained, "I don't want to steal his time, sir."

It was remarkable how the Empath was unable to pick up on Severus' feelings, and yet, not so surprising for Severus had told him that, apparently, his way to practise Occlumency somehow blocked Harry's abilities. However, Harry had felt the Potions Master's distress earlier today. But he seemed unable to pick up on Severus' more subtle feelings when his shields were firmly in place, which they were.

Not to their full intensity as they were during a Death Eater meeting, but still enough to block out Harry's, admittedly unintended, prying.

Watching those two was fascinating and painful at the same time.

Their behaviour also gave him hope. Both of them had revoked their prejudices towards the other. All they had to do now was get to know each other. Meeting twice a week outside of class would definitely be beneficial.

"I will ask Professor Aikokyushin if he's interested."

That was a formality, though.

Moraku? Turn down the possibility to test a _Kirei_'s abilities? To help a student?

Tom would sooner become a part of the Order than that.

"Thanks, sir. Is there anything else? Otherwise I'll be back here by tomorrow afternoon." Childish enthusiasm was something he'd missed seeing on Harry's face this year. He was glad it had returned.

"What will you be telling your friends?" Severus inquired.

"That Professor Dumbledore will be teaching me additional Occlumency on Sundays." The calmly spoken answer surprised the two older wizards in the office. Harry noticed it and added, "Hermione and Ron will be the only ones who'll ask, really, when I say that the headmaster wants to see me. They won't be asking too many questions since last year's dis…"

He stopped talking, the '_last year's disaster'_ hung in the air unspoken.

Severus didn't look angry at that, just sad. Harry avoided the taller man's gaze.

"I'm sorry for taking up so much of your time, sir," the emerald-eyed boy said very quietly.

"What did I tell you about apologizing, Mr Potter?" Severus replied strictly yet mildly.

"Well, it _is_ kind of my fault," Harry argued, but was interrupted immediately.

"It is my choice, my idea even, to train you further. There is no need for apologies." One of Severus' talents was to speak in a manner that dissolved all ground to argue. It was very reassuring in moments when one felt insecure. It wasn't surprising therefore that it worked very well on Harry.

"Thank you, Professor," he whispered, his head lowered.

* * *

As he'd promised, Severus Snape was standing in the hospital wing, when Harry arrived. He'd told Ron and Hermione that he had to spend the night in the Hospital Wing because of what happened at the Ministry (they were the only ones knowing about Voldemort's ultimate attack when he'd taken his body). Hermione had looked dubious, but she'd accepted, very well aware that it wasn't wise to pry.

Madame Pomfrey had prepared a bed muttering something about paying rent for it since he was her most regular patient.

Harry was bit nervous, unsure what the professor would do. It was also strange to actually walk to the hospital wing: usually he was carried (according to Madame Pomfrey) unless some incompetent teacher managed to vanish the bones in his arm or he'd just come back from a potentially lethal encounter with Voldemort.

Today, apart from the common feeling of exhaustion, he felt well enough. As he got prepared for bed, he felt everything but comfortable when sat on the mattress noticing Snape sitting in a chair nearby, not right beside the bed but not on the other side of the room either.

The potion was prepared on his nightstand. Slowly, he took it, quietly wishing Professor Snape good night.

"Good night, Harry," the Potions Master's softly spoken words were the last thing he heard before falling asleep.

* * *

Snape quickly checked the boy's defences and presence of mind. He didn't get past Harry's maze that was Hogwarts which, frankly, still amazed him, but he was relieved to see that the boy's mind hadn't wandered.

However, whether or not it worked, they would know the next day. He only hoped that the potion wouldn't trap Harry in his horrifying dreams.

* * *

That Saturday night was going to be strenuous for several professors teaching at this school.

In the Hospital Wing, Severus Snape sat by Harry's side all night regularly checking whether he was distressed, or his mind had wandered. His eyes stung and occasionally they fluttered shut for he did not have much sleep the night before. However, he somehow kept himself awake.

* * *

Unable to sleep was Albus Dumbledore. He sat as his desk covered by countless sheets of parchment. He didn't see them however.

For the first time in countless years, he was crying. It was heartbreaking to listen to those sobs uttered in a moment of deepest shame. The last time he'd cried that way had been hours after Ariana's death.

Never before had he felt so old.

* * *

Filius Flitwick didn't sleep either. Unlike his former Transfiguration teacher however, he was in a very cheery mood. His desk was covered by several books.

_The Art of Duelling – A Beginner's Guide_ (the first book he'd ever read on the subject, many years ago)

_Of Wards and Shields_

_Charming Charms to Hex and Defend_

That and many other books were opened and the Charms teacher was taking notes. He wanted to be prepared, though it was unlikely for him to see Mr Potter for the next few Sundays.

There were so many things he wanted to teach the boy, but he also wanted to learn from him for his approach was so unique, it would surprise Flitwick if he had not taken his time to look into duelling as well.

There was also another book on his desk with a slightly different title and meaning than the others. It was merely to enjoy himself.

_Roasted Toad – Thirty Recipes of Preparing a Toad_

He'd definitely have to look into the art of transfiguring humans into animals. He might have to approach Minerva over it.

* * *

Had Flitwick known of his colleague's state of mind, he might not have been as cheerful.

Minerva couldn't sleep either. She was sitting in her office, alone, at her desk correcting her Third Year's essays on Animagi. Her hand was shaking so hard, she was inclined to put down her quill.

Warily, she stared at it and broke into tears yet again.

She'd failed them, she'd failed her children.

* * *

A/N: That was a particularly hard chapter to write. That's why it took me a while (that and I had important exams coming up)... I hope you liked.

Thanks for all those who've been reviewing so regularly. Thanks to those who've decided to review the last chapter.

And of course, thank you, MissGoalie75, for beta-ing my story.


	26. Before the Storm, Part One

**Chapter 14, Part One: Before The Storm**

When Harry opened his eyes, he felt as if he'd just fallen off his broom and the familiar reach to get his glasses was exceedingly arduous. He hadn't slept. He'd been unconscious. It took him a moment to realize he was in the hospital wing and another moment to remember how he'd winded up here. Quickly, he sat up when he recalled who'd been there when he'd fallen asleep.

Instead of Professor Snape, there was Professor Dumbledore sitting in a chair nearby. "Back to the living, Harry? How are you feeling?" the old man asked kindly.

The sixteen-year-old had to suppress a jaw-cracking yawn and forced to keep his eyes open, "Good morning, sir. I feel as if I was run over by a hippogriff. What did Professor Snape put into that Sleeping Draft?"

His question earned a soft chuckle, "He told me that the draft was a bit more potent than the usual one, though he didn't give me any specifics."

"Where is he, sir? Has Voldemort summoned him anyhow? I was completely out of it." He felt his heartbeat exhilarate. At first, out of excitement to have slept without his mind wandering, but then he was immediately worried. What if something important had happened last night? What if Voldemort had used the _Indicendi _for the first time?

"He'd been awake for more than twenty-four hours when I took over his task this morning, Harry. He was here only a moment ago, but his duties as Head of House forced him to leave again. He should be here any minute," the headmaster explained calmly.

Harry looked up in surprise at the headmaster's words, "What time is it, Professor?"

He received a very kind smile, "It is two o'clock in the afternoon."

Eighteen hours! Harry had slept for almost an entire day!

His head was spinning at the thought. He didn't know whether to cry or laugh at the prospect of finally having made up, however little, for his sleep deprivation.

"Professor Snape said he'd keep my mind from wandering if necessary. Did he have to?" if the Potions Master hadn't been inclined to do so, Harry might have a permanent solution for his insane sleeping habits.

"You mind threatened to wander seven times this night, though none of it occurred after daybreak more than six hours ago, which is a bit peculiar. Have you ever had visions at daytime, Harry?" the headmaster's tone was gentle as if he could feel that Harry wasn't quite awake yet. It made the younger boy relax.

"Every once in a while, but that's rare and the incidents are far in between. May I ask you why you think that is, sir?" he asked curiously.

"I don't know, Harry. I cannot imagine Voldemort sleeping for such a long time. Additionally, given what I have seen for the last five hours, I cannot help but wonder why you find yourself in his lair every night; your performance in Occlumency is marvellous in its unique way," the Boy Who Lived blushed, unable to meet the eyes of the man who'd just praised him, "Have you ever wondered?"

At that, Harry couldn't help but raise his eyebrows a bit. He'd been asking himself this single question for nearly half a year. Before he had the chance to answer that question, nausea overcame him as his body reminded him just for how long he hadn't eaten anything. Professor Dumbledore seemed to have noticed it for he waved his wand and a tray with all kinds of food appeared. Strangely (for it was offered by a sweet-tooth named Albus Dumbledore), there were no sweets at all, there was only healthy food offering a lot of energy as well as some nutrition potions.

Harry froze when he realized that his glamour had lost their efficiency hours ago. He looked into those sad, blue eyes (who had instantly recognized his awareness) and was completely at loss what to say.

"It's not your fault, sir," he whispered at last, his hand slipped to the nightstand where Madame Pomfrey always laid his wand and with chillingly habitual movements he reapplied his glamour efficiently.

"I'd say it is, Harry. Had I bothered to pay attention, none of this would have happened," the headmaster answered with an expression full of grief.

"I could've told you," the sixteen-year-old contradicted.

Irritation and a strong sensation of worry not battling each other but connecting as if it was a single emotion flooded over him and he knew that Madame Pomfrey was about to enter the Infirmary before she spoke, "Yes, you could have, silly boy." Her scolding was almost welcome somehow. Like Mrs Weasley, Madame Pomfrey had a way of making him feel younger than he actually was. Briefly, just for a short, painful moment, he wondered if that was what mothers did.

It didn't linger as she explained to him just how many times a day he'd have to take which potion. Apparently, she'd given Dobby the task of making sure he took his medicine and nutrition potions. Additionally, he was supposed to sleep in the hospital wing every night until his physical condition allowed him to get back into his tower.

"But…" he started to protest thinking about his visions and nightmares, his restlessness at night.

"No 'but'!" the matron interrupted, there was no venom in her voice, yet she sounded severe enough so Harry didn't dare to say anything, "My diagnostic spells revealed that you haven't slept soundly in six months and you didn't think of approaching me, you silly, silly boy!" she didn't seem disappointed, at least not in Harry, she felt…_guilty?_ Why would she…? "I should have looked after you a lot more closely," she continued quietly, her voice full of sorrow, "Every time you got hurt, I just patched you up and sent you away again. That was a mistake," she continued and Harry could only shake his head, not because of what she said, but in the face of her pain and guilt. It wasn't her duty to…

"You, Harry," she began and Harry couldn't remember the last time she'd called him by his first name. What was it with teachers and his first name lately? It was as if they'd just remembered that he had one, "Are a very special child," '…_destined either to die or to become a murderer…'_, "And this has nothing to do with the history of your scar," that caused Harry to look up again after having avoided her gaze, "You are a very kind, smart boy who thinks that the safety of his friends is important enough to teach them the most difficult of all spells, healing charms, so they'd know what to do in case they were hurt," he endangered them often enough. The least thing he could do was never to let such a thing ever happen again, "But no matter how grown-up you are already, you are sixteen years old! It is not your task to do everything on your own, Harry."

Sceptically, Harry raised his eyebrows. He couldn't very well tell her just how much was on the line. She had no idea of the Prophecy or his mind connection to Voldemort. He glanced at Dumbledore to see what he thought and was surprised to see him agree with the mediwitch.

"We haven't given you many reasons to trust us, but I hope that some day in the future, you will come to us when you are feeling troubled," the headmaster said quietly.

Harry almost replied something along the lines of, _'Oh yeah. That would go well. "Madame Pomfrey, do you know that there are fifteen different curses to break a bone? There's the one that is painless in itself, but Voldemort somehow adjusted it, so the pain triples after the bone's actually broken. Then, there's the one giving the victims the feeling of being hit by a tire-iron. Last but definitely not least, there's the Earth Unspeakable…" or even better, "Professor Snape, you see, there is this girl…"'_

However, he didn't say it. Raw pain cut through Harry as he looked at Professor Dumbledore. The old man was torturing himself. The sixteen-year-old Empath couldn't say exactly why the headmaster felt guilty, but judging by what he just said, it was because Harry had decided to carry his burdens on his own.

Harry knew guilt. It was a sentiment he could recognize in others effortlessly, but to be the reason of said guilt hurt unexpectedly. He hadn't meant to upset the few adults in his life who cared for his well-being. He'd just…

'_Don't ask questions.'_ Somehow this had included every kind of whining or complaining. Sirius had been the first adult he'd approached without questioning himself. Back then, after he'd woken up from a hurting scar.

But Sirius was gone.

And he had no intention of causing another person's death. Every adult taking over the task of caring for Harry had died.

"I'll try, sir," he said after noticing that the atmosphere in the room was becoming oppressive.

He received a soft smile in return. It was as if Dumbledore saw what was going on inside of him and he checked his shields which were firmly in place.

Well, Professor Snape had said it, so had Chita… He wasn't very good at hiding his feelings, though it was much easier when said intention had a purpose. Not blowing the spy's cover, for example.

"Good," Madame Pomfrey stated sternly as she caught his gaze and continued, "I'm expecting you back here at curfew," she initiated a series of complicated flicks with her wand, some of which Harry recognized to be diagnostic spells, "For now, you are allowed to leave, _but_ you might want to get some things from the Common Room, Harry. You won't be returning there for at least a week."

Harry gulped at that prospect. How could he possibly explain _that_ to his friends? The additional lessons were fine, this one night of observation was fine too, but if he had have tell them that he had to stay here they'd know that something bad was going on. Worse than they'd already feared.

Before he could dwell on it any further, a brisk but quiet knock was heard from the entrance and they all turned to see the Potions Master standing there.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Professor Snape's sneer gave Harry clear instructions to play along.

"Not at all, Severus, please, enter!" the headmaster stated with a bright smile, "I take it you are prepared?"

"Yes, Headmaster. You may come to me whenever you are finished here," the sneer lasted before the face became blank again, "Excuse me, Headmaster."

"Harry," Dumbledore said, as soon as the Potions Master had closed the door behind him, "Why don't you catch up with your friends… And by 'catch up' I mean that I hope for you opening up to them. They have a right to know."

"Yes, sir. I know. It's just that I don't want to bother them with my problems."

"A burden gets lighter when it's shared, but let us do the sharing. Your friends should know about this, not to help carrying the burden, but to be there for you. They've all proved themselves to be trustworthy, especially Miss Granger and Mr Weasely, and both of them are very perceptive. I would be very mistaken if they didn't know that something was going on already."

"They certainly suspect that something's going on. It's not easy to fool Hermione." Or Ron. Or Dean. Or Seamus. Or Neville. His dorm mates certainly knew that something was awry, "Sir, should I be coming to your office… after?"

"Yes, Harry, but take your time," the headmaster replied.

Slowly, Harry got out of bed, got dressed and made his way to the dorm.

* * *

Arriving in the Common Room he noticed that none of his friends were present. That knowledge was a relief. Like this, he had time to think what he wanted to tell them this evening.

He entered his dorm and packed some of this clothes and schoolbooks. Additionally, he packed his Invisibility Cloak. When he was satisfied with everything he'd take along, he took one last glance at the dorm with a small sigh. He hoped to return soon. This dorm had been the first room to give him a feeling of safety.

Surely, the cupboard had been safe, too. To a certain point. He'd just hated it when they'd locked it. Same thing with the bedroom he'd received five years ago.

He sighed again and suddenly remembered that he hadn't been doing any breathing practice today. Or yesterday for that matter.

He enjoyed the moment of calm so much, it was easy to settle down. After adding his present state of mind to his shields, he opened his eyes and his heart stopped a beat when he saw Sraki cleaning the floor. He jumped back.

"Sraki! Sorry, I didn't see you," he exclaimed. His mind was racing… It couldn't be a coincidence that every time he was doing his breathing practice, he recognized the _Shabi_ elf.

If Harry was startled, Sraki almost screamed in surprise. Warily, she looked at him, but she didn't seem as panicked as at their first meeting not so long ago.

"How are you?" he asked stupidly. It was difficult to start a conversation when your heart was beating just a bit too fast.

Sraki didn't answer. She definitely wasn't used to talking to humans. Instead, she said, "Harry Potter is driving _her_ _trini_, he does. He sleeps not enough and she is scared yesterday when he sleeps in Hospital Wing instead of dorm."

Oh.

"What does _trini _mean, Sraki?" he actually wanted to know who _she _was for she seemed to know quite a bit of what was going on in this castle. However, this question was safer.

"The Lady wants him," her long fingers made a cracking sound and curled them quickly, "Sometimes." Harry's eyes widened when Sraki shook an invisible teenager with her small but strong arms "Wants put bricks around him."

"Just who is _she_ exactly?" Enough people wanted him dead or caged. Maybe, he could avoid _her_ whoever that lady was.

"The Lady," Sraki said and made a wide gesture with her short arm.

Harry blanched.

Hogwarts? The castle was angry at him. Involuntarily, he took a step back.

"No," Sraki said sounding about as desperate as he had on their first meeting, "Lady tells him not fear, no fear."

"She wants to lock me up," Harry replied sharply (thinking of bars in front of his window, the clicking sound of a lock outside of his reach keeping him inside of a dark, tiny cupboard), "What do you expect me to do?"

"No, no, no," that was the first time ever Harry heard a house-elf sounding frustrated, "Is not doing it… He just always in danger and _she_ not know how to keeps him save. Driving her _trini_ he is."

"Oh…"

Deeply in thought, Harry said goodbye to Sraki and brought his things to the Hospital Wing while his eyes darted about the castle's cold walls a bit more attentively. He had the urge to apologize.

Later this evening, he wouldn't be able to recall just how he got from the Infirmary to Professor Dumbledore's office. Distinctly, he remembered the headmaster telling him that he had to floo to "_The_ _Room of Thousand Things_."

Apparently that was the ancient expression of the Room of Requirement.

He hadn't known it was possible to floo to that place, but according to Professor Snape, who had already been present at his arrival, the headmaster's fireplace alone had this kind of access.

"After you used this room as hiding place last year, the headmaster tried to find out as much as he could about it," the Potions Master said, before noticing Harry's slightly absent gaze, "Is anything the matter, Mr Potter?"

"I'm driving her crazy!" Harry all but blurted out. He'd told Professor Aikokyushin himself that Hogwarts was an 'ever-worrying mother,' but he hadn't expected the castle to be that _alive._

"I beg your pardon, Mr Potter?" Snape's puzzlement was hidden well.

"Hogwarts," the sixteen-year-old replied gesturing wildly about the room, "I'm driving her crazy."

Snape held his gaze for a moment before lifting a single eyebrow, "Well, why doesn't that surprise me?"

"I'm not that bad," the Boy Who Lived contradicted while tuning out the memories that kept coming up reminding him of every time he'd been endangered on Hogwarts' grounds.

"Your Head of House once considered tying you to your bed," Snape replied dryly.

"I'm not looking for trouble," Harry called out, completely frustrated, "Trouble just… always finds me."

"I see," the Potions Master said quietly, "Let me tell you that trying to keep you alive is about as simple as brewing Wolfsbane potion when there is no _Kyal_ root at your disposal." Harry felt confused. He was better at Potions than ever in his life before, but the allegory was lost to him. The Order's spy noticed his confusion. For a moment he said nothing before sighing ever so slightly, "Sarcasm always came naturally to me. However, my metaphors leave much to be desired, I'm afraid. They are usually in need of further explanation, which makes them rather pointless."

The apologetic undertone made Harry smile. He knew from five years of dealing with the wizard that he was far from a perfect human being, but he excelled in the art of speech, Occlumency, wand magic, Potions, pretty much everything that could be called 'ability.'

'_Like Voldemort.'_

To hear that he was struggling with a minor aspect of any of those skills comforted Harry. Especially since his own metaphors weren't much better.

"I tend to use Quidditch in order to explain things, so you won't hear me reprimand you over that, sir."

As he had once before, Snape exhaled sharply as if snorting in amusement which wasn't returned by puzzlement this time but a smile.

"The headmaster told you that your mind threatened to wander seven times this night. How are you feeling today, Mr Potter?" Snape asked. His facial expression made it impossible for Harry to recognize what he thought.

"Tired, but that's normal I think. The potion knocked me out to the point of near-unconsciousness. Did you add asphodel or wormwood to it, sir?"

Thoughtfully, the Order's spy looked at him, "I used asphodel, but I didn't powder it but merely sliced it."

"Ah, yes. Powdering asphodel would have increased its potency," Harry stated then he decided to ask the question that worried him, "Since my mind still wanders and I therefore need Professor Dumbledore or yourself to keep it from doing so, how many times is it wise to use the potion?"

"Not more than twice a week, not because of us, but because of the potion itself. If you use this more than twice a week, there will be side effects," the Potions Master explained, "It is a temporary solution at best, Mr Potter. Our goal should be to stop those dreams altogether."

Harry opened his mouth to protest. He couldn't just abandon those people. Snape interrupted before he was able to voice his thoughts, "I understand the responsibility you feel, Mr Potter. I do, so does the headmaster. But that is not your burden to bear. This is killing you, surely you have noticed that."

Denial wasn't an option. He decided to be honest, "It's not killing me now. It hasn't killed me for the past six months. Why change anything?"

His question seemed to irate Snape, but there was no venom in his voice when he spoke, "It is not your duty to help them die, but it is your duty to _live_, Harry."

"I'll die either way," Harry retorted biting his lips just a little too late to keep the words from slipping. That had been a positively stupid thing to say. Black eyes widened, the taller man didn't even try to hide his shock.

"Prof…"

"Sit down, Harry," Snape interrupted. The room resembled the training room Harry created when they had spell practice on the DA schedule. There was not chair nearby, so the sixteen-year-old sat down on the wooden floor. In a fluent motion the Head of Slytherin did the same five feet away. It was strange to see Snape sitting on the ground. Somehow, Harry couldn't warp his mind around it.

"It is vital for you to understand this: I do not indulge in hopeless actions and therefore teaching you to survive cannot be a needless task I put upon myself," the security in the older man's voice comforted Harry, "Furthermore, you must know that prophecies are shady at best. Don't give yours too much credit."

Harry nodded slightly, feeling a lump form in his throat and therefore didn't trust his voice.

He wasn't alone. Professor Snape would help him with this. For the first time, he believed it whole-heartedly.

"There is also another matter I wanted to discuss with you," the Potions Master continued and the severity in the deep voice claimed Harry's undivided attention, "Do you remember the death of the family Crawford last summer?"

All of a sudden, Harry was rigid. His entire body tensed up.

Of course, he remembered them. They'd been among the first victims he'd had to deal with after the creation of his shields. He'd felt so helpless. Why would the Potions Master bring that up?

"Was it Jonathan Crawford's fault they were murdered?" it was a naturally stated question, but it outraged Harry.

"Of course not! He had been brutally manipulated by Voldemort. He didn't know what hit him until it was too late. He couldn't have known!"

"Yes, indeed. Very much like you, actually." Harry couldn't believe he took the bait. Snape was Head of Slytherin for a reason. He was playing his role so well, it was easy to forget that every once in a while.

"Mr Crawford never dealt with _him_ before. I did. I should have known better," the sixteen-year-old contradicted.

"Mr Crawford was not an ordinary family father; he was working at the Ministry for more than twenty years, in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, side by side Aurors. Yes, he wasn't combat-trained, but he would have been more capable of recognizing a trap efficiently than the majority of said department. He was one of the Mindreaders," at Harry's puzzled expression he explained further, "It is the equivalent of a Profiler in the Muggle world, Mr Potter. It was his task to enter a criminal's mind, thus his name, to know what they were like. If such a man failed to recognize the Dark Lord's manipulations, what makes you possibly think you could have?"

Harry was at loss what to say. His mind was racing. He wondered if it was slightly morbid to enjoy hearing of yet another field Professor Snape seemed to be knowledgeable about.

There was just one little problem, "Fact remains I should have acted more rationally and less impulsively."

"You warned me," Snape contradicted, "And had there been less animosity between us, I would have been able to properly communicate with you without risking my position as a spy."

That was why he hadn't talked? Of course! Malfoy had been in that bloody room. There had been no chance whatsoever for Snape to react properly. That knowledge only added to the guilt he already felt, but the Potions Master seemed to see through him yet again, "Yes, you didn't see the situation from my point of view, _but_ that is irrelevant. Had I bothered just once to observe you, truly observe you without the considerable amount of prejudice swirling around in the back of my mind, we would have been in a position to communicate that day. So, Black's death is as much my fault as it is yours as well as the headmaster's who didn't explain matters to you. Ultimately, Harry, we didn't kill him. That was Bellatrix Lestrange's doing."

Uncertainly, he looked at the taller man sitting in front of him.

"Have you ever blamed Black for your parents' death?" Harry suppressed a flinch when he heard the venom Snape seemed to be unable to keep out of his voice when talking of his godfather. The question itself was simply ridiculous.

"No, why would I…"

'_I as good as killed them…' _

'_I'm to blame, I know it…' _

Sirius had felt just like him. He'd felt guilty for a decision that, in itself, would've never led to his parents' death.

"It wasn't his fault," Harry whispered.

"Then what makes you think _you_ are at fault?" Snape spoke in a very soft tone and it amazed Harry to see that the teacher's smooth, deep voice seemed to be cut out for this kind of tone.

The Boy Who Lived didn't know what to say. His mind was blank.

Thankfully, the Potions Master seemed to see through him yet again for he changed the subject, "This isn't an Occlumency lesson today, Mr Potter. Though you are welcome to ask questions anytime. First, I would like to test your abilities in the art of duelling. You may stop anytime and if you are scared or hurt, I want you to tell me that. I've seen and heard enough of your spell work to know that it is excellent. My goal is to judge how well you do in a standardized duelling situation and by that, I mean how well you fight without holding back. Be assured you will not hurt me. Combat situations will be practiced in further lessons."

Harry nodded, suddenly feeling a rush of excitement. He looked forward to learning more.

Snape told him to get into position, but instead of bowing to each other (the Potions Master was considerate enough not to follow through this part of duelling formalities), they immediately held their wands in standard position (Harry noticed that, just like in their second year, Snape resumed the position of an offensive duellist by holding his wand above his head).

"One… Two… Three!"

Harry didn't attack immediately for he thought it a folly to attack a wizard ten times more experienced than he was. Snape didn't attack either.

They circled each other in anticipation. Almost imperceptivity, Snape lowered his hand keeping it close to the chest.

All of a sudden, after seizing each other up for nearly a minute, the former Death Eater charged with a vicious, nonverbal arc of his wand.

Harry felt, rather than saw, the powerful charm coming at him. Not ready to take chances, he shouted, "_Protego_!"

The power of the unknown hex slamming against his shield charm caused them both to be pushed back. Remembering what he'd just learned in Defence, he stepped aside in order to launch his first attack, but Snape flicked his wand and Harry's foot was drawn sideways. Instead overbalancing the way he had with Professor Aikokyushin, he broke the charm by whispering, "_Deflecto!" _cursing himself to be unable to do it nonverbally. Snape almost lazily broke his counter before charging yet again by conjuring a small arsenal of knives that flew in considerable velocity towards him.

Harry wouldn't know later what made him stay rooted on the spot, but he lifted his wand while recalling Nagini's looks, the terror he felt in her presence, and spoke one of the general incantations to transform metal into animals.

"_Restrain him!"_ he ordered the ten snakes (no bigger than the knives he'd stopped) landing in front of his feet. The carnivorous animals charged without hesitation.

Snape's eyes widened only a fraction before letting the conjured and transformed knives disappear. It gave Harry enough time to attack. He shouted, "_Feritis"_ but in his mind, nonverbally and completely focused on that, he thought, '_Reducto!' _while thinking of the good memories he'd had from that DA class last week.

The spy parted his hands clearly using _Seiunges_. As Harry had demonstrated last Wednesday, the combination of the Reductor and _Seiunges _created a vacuum that tore Snape from his feet.

'_Expelliarmus!'_ he thought when the Potions Master literally flew towards him, but as his spell was about to hit the spy and Harry himself stepped a few feet away so he wouldn't be hit, he was surprised by his opponent. All of a sudden, the charm's effects were cancelled and Snape landed with cat-like elegance avoiding the Boy Who Lived's strongest spell.

It all happened within seconds and Harry was disarmed himself only a moment later.

Ashamed to only have been able to hold his own for so short an amount of time, he lowered his head.

He heard rather than saw Snape approach. For a moment there was silence before the Potions Master spoke, "I've been teaching at this school for fifteen years, Mr Potter, and never before have I been as tempted to award points to Gryffindor as now."

What?

Harry looked up in surprise and his heart swelled when he saw Snape smile with an expression not unlike Professor Flitwick after he'd demonstrated a particular complicated charm nonverbally. In fact, unless he was completely mistaken, that smile resembled Mr Weasley when one of his children had been praised by another adult.

"I didn't win," Harry protested feebly.

"Mr Potter, if you had won our first duel it would be me asking you whether you could give me lessons. There's work to do, of course, but overall your level is far beyond an average NEWT student," the teenager couldn't help but wonder what was going on. It was so unlike Snape to give outright compliments, "And I'm not talking about power. You've shown patience, innovation and a remarkably cunning streak in your defence as well as your attacks. I'm glad to see that, all Gryffindor foolishness aside, you know that sometimes it is wiser to bring the wall down before trying to walk through it."

Harry gulped. Snape had given him a compliment! No sarcasm, only genuine appreciation of his performance.

"Thank you, sir," he whispered hoarsely.

For nearly three hours, Snape asked Harry to tell him his offensive and defensive spells, what ideas he had on strategies. More than once, they practised certain spells Harry was unable to perform openly without fearing the knowledge to reach Voldemort the same night. There were times (after Snape had been sent skidding across the room twice in a row when Harry was practising his nonverbal _Expelliarmus_ and Banishing Charm), Snape created a dummy for his student to work on.

The telling of strategies was more of a discussion. In return to Harry's openness, Snape gave him quite a few pointers by revealing some of his strategies. Like this, the sixteen-year-old learned that the Potions Master was quite talented at creating his own spells.

"I think that is enough for today, Mr Potter," Snape said all of a sudden after Harry's tenth unsuccessful try at manifesting his Patronus to the point it was solid enough not only to scare Dementors away but to do the same with a Death Eater.

"Already?" it was the closest thing Harry's voice resembled a whine in months. It shocked the teenager himself to the point that his eyes widened without being able to apologize for the impertinence.

To his relief, it didn't annoy Snape. The reaction seemed to amuse him, in fact.

"Unless I'm mistaken, Madame Pomfrey will be expecting you to settle down in the Infirmary and that also means your friends will know you weren't entirely honest with them," the scolding was soft, weak in comparison to the teacher's usual behaviour, but in the face of his changed attitude towards Harry, it shamed the underage wizard more than any demeaning comment he knew Snape was capable of.

"I've already brought my things to the hospital wing. But you are right, sir, I'll tell Hermione and Ron tonight, everything. I don't know what to say to the rest, though."

"Tell them that it is mere precaution for not having slept well in a while. Everybody will understand if you have nightmares, Harry."

"Maybe, but _he_ will know before tomorrow night if I do that," he contradicted, feeling discouraged.

"The Dark Lord will know either way. In fact, I'm afraid it is my task to tell him. He's not practising Legilimency towards you for the time being. When he hears that you suffer from nightmares, he will think to have broken you and the fact he hasn't, is an advantage that we can claim." Again, the Potions Master's soft, matter-of-fact tone calmed Harry immensely. He enjoyed hearing his first name spoken by the older man as well. It gave him a certain feeling of safety.

"Thank you, sir," he said quietly.

* * *

_A/N_: Good morning, people! You guys are amazing. I received SIXTEEN reviews for that last chapter. Thank you very much. A special thanks to those people who've been reviewing so regularly since the beginning and those who've joined later and have been reviewing regularly as well.

Thanks as always to MissGoalie75, you're great :)

Additionally, I need to apologize for the delay... I suffered from a minor case of writer's block, mainly because I know what's going to happen very soon, but didn't know how to draw the bridge from what I already have.

The title of the chapter is telling you something. The chapter after the following one will be one of three 'peaks' in my story, or at least the peaks I've planned (somehow, I didn't plan the amount of subplot I'd come up with as I am writing). And I think you can already guess what that'll be about.


	27. Before the Storm, Part Two

**Chapter 14, Part Two: Before the Storm**

Harry found his best friends in the Common Room.

"Hermione, Ron? I'd like to talk to you." His tone of voice had to resemble the one he used to start their conversation about the Prophecy last time since they both got up immediately and left the Gryffindor tower. They didn't talk much until they were inside of the Room of Requirement, which was immediately warded by Harry.

He didn't have to look at them to feel their fear. They dreaded what would come.

"I wasn't entirely honest with you," he began, anticipating Ron's anger and frustration before it was actually felt.

"I mean… I was," he continued, "What I told you, is the truth, but I kept information from you."

Their reactions stunned him a bit. He'd expected them to look angry, especially Ron, or exasperated at least. But they were awaiting his justification patiently.

"I guess I should start from the beginning," he started hesitantly. Unable to sit, he stood up and started to walk about the room. "After Si…" He took a deep breath and sought his inner calm before talking. He knew that if he stopped, he wouldn't be able to continue. "After Sirius died, I was just sad at first. Well, angry and sad. It took me a moment to notice that, no matter how much I wanted to blame the world, it was ultimately my fault."

Though Snape had given a valuable argument to the contrary… But if it wasn't his fault… Why did the people who loved him just keep dying around him? Was he simply not supposed to be taken care of?

"Let me continue, Hermione," he said when he noticed her mouth opening in protest, "I wanted to _atone_, I guess. I wanted to feel less helpless, so I started to study. With the Prophecy in the back of my mind, it seemed reasonable to get prepared, because no matter how much I wished for the contrary, my and Voldemort's paths will cross again. Then, all of a sudden, the dreams started again, but they were different. I was Voldemort, but instead of a short moment, I was _him_ for the course of a night. Night after night. It drove me nuts, but I didn't tell anybody…" And like this, he started to speak of his way of Occlumency and its consequences.

What he did not tell them was his changed opinion of Snape and that said wizard had apologized to him… That he'd been kind to him, that he seemed to be worried enough to approach Dumbledore over it. That he seemed to be adamant at convincing Harry that Sirius' death wasn't his fault. He did not keep this from them because he feared their reaction, or disbelief (or rather Ron's for Hermione had always defended their Potions Master), but because he knew just how open an unpractised mind was. Should Voldemort read Ron's and Hermione's minds, he'd have enough information already to execute Snape; there was no need to magnify that threat.

However, there were other things he had to tell them, "So, yes, that's why I can play Voldemort so well in tactics. I've been studying his working method for half a year now. Only few weeks ago, I was informed of the mechanics behind my shields… Apparently, I'm empathic. I feel other people's emotions," he clarified, "I never asked how often such a skill occurs… Guess I should do that."

He grew quiet and dared to look at Hermione and Ron for the first time. If Harry didn't know them so well, he'd have a hard time interpreting their facial expressions.

Ron was the first to speak: "How do I feel right now?"

Harry looked away. "Confused. Angry. Disappointed. Worried… Relieved for some reason and right now, you're mostly scared."

Ron blanched and nodded slowly. "How exactly does that work?"

"The better I know someone, the better I can guess them. Most of the time, I feel what they feel."

"Does it hurt?" Hermione asked quietly and Harry furiously blinked away upcoming tears.

"Sometimes," he whispered. "Emotional pain when someone's in really bad shape. Headaches when it's too much. I'm sorry," he added hastily.

"What for exactly?" Ron hissed heatedly, "For lying to us? For pretending that it was the whole Prophecy thing getting to you that made you lose your sleep? You're…" He groaned in frustration, pressing his hands against his eyes, obviously and desperately trying to wrestle down an explosion.

"I couldn't have told you," Harry defended himself quietly, "I'd have fallen apart if I had and you couldn't have helped me."

"Why?" the red-haired boy asked forcefully, advancing to Harry. The anger didn't take the Boy Who Lived aback, he'd expected that. But the quick approach was just a little bit too fast for comfort. He was on edge as it was.

He took a step back.

"Because you don't know what it feels like," he answered truthfully.

"Harry, you prat! We were there last summer, we know…"

The helplessness that seemed to bubble right below the surface these days and his frustration, combined with the pain of having lost the only person who'd ever asked him to stay with him caused an explosion no member of the 'Golden Trio' would forget so easily.

"NO, YOU DON'T! Merlin! You of all people, Ron, you don't! You're my best friend, but when it comes to that you're _clueless_. Imagine your dad gone! Imagine your mum gone! Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, Percy! I know your life's not a fairytale, but you don't _know_!" he screamed as he rose from the chair. He didn't even notice that said chair was set on fire before it collapsed. His throat burned. "I never knew my mum, or my dad. I've never spoken to them, or at least in a way that enables them to answer my questions. You think dying is the thing I'm worried about the most? If I die, so be it! I worry about you, Hermione, your family! Neville. Seamus. Dean. All those kids who seem to view me as some sort of saviour. I'm the one to either die or beat him, but even if he weren't a thrice cursed prodigy at _everything _he touches and if I had the slightest chance to beat him, I DON'T WANT TO BE THE ONE TO KILL HIM. I will, Merlin knows, I will. I hate him enough, but I don't… want to become him in order to beat him," he said desperately. "Too many people died because of me or were endangered because of me. I don't want to take a life deliberately," his voice was hoarse, "It can't be me, guys. I wish…"

"What do you wish, Harry?" Hermione asked softly. Her eyes were full with tears, but Harry was too caught up in his own emotional rollercoaster to tell what she felt.

Harry felt his right hand twinge, the scar at its back started to prickle; his defences were down, he was exhausted. Before he could stop himself, he heard himself whisper, "I wish the Dursleys would've never let me leave the cupboard." So many people would still be alive if he had. Cedric. Sirius… If he didn't exist, his parents would've never died.

Hermione rushed forward and embraced him. "You're so stupid sometimes. You think life would've been better for us if you hadn't entered the Magical World?" she laughed quietly, the sound was muffled since her face was pressed against his shoulder, "Let me tell you something, Harry. I wouldn't have survived… The troll would have entered the girl's room regardless and nobody would've come looking after me, and yes, Ron would've still been insensitive and I would've still cried… Ginny wouldn't be alive either. Nobody but you could have entered the Chamber. All life-saving aside, Harry… Do you think Ron and I would be as close as we are if it weren't for you? You are like a brother, to me and to Ron, so, in a way, you're the one who keeps us together when things between us are not all smooth and nice. I didn't have any friends before I came here, and then all of a sudden, I had two. Two daft, stubborn, male friends, but friends nevertheless. And I'm glad about that, Harry. Really, really glad."

Harry held her a bit tighter, unwilling to look her in the eyes before having controlled his emotions. Which wasn't so simple, his feelings were mixed with his friend's sentiments. After a moment, he looked at Ron.

"Er… What she said," Ron said, causing Harry to laugh. More than ever he appreciated his best friend's blunt ways, "Look, I'm…"

"No," Harry interrupted, "Don't. I'm sorry. Things have been a bit… much lately. I guess I don't really understand how you feel either, all empathy aside. Speaking of: Marcus Phillas' friends might approach you sometime soon. They might need some advice on the whole 'how to support a friend who's lost someone' situation."

"All in good time. Harry, what unsettled you that much? You've been, well, given the circumstances, remarkably sane. What happened?"

"Okay, guys. What I'm telling you now must not leave this room. It's important. People's lives are on the line, my own included."

He saw them both nod and Harry told them of the Unspeakables and how sinister the future looked for all those fighting Voldemort.

Hermione gasped in horror while he explained what the Unspeakbles could do. Ron blanched, his skin stood in a massive contrast to his flaming red hair.

"There's no counter curse to the Unspeakables. Professor Dumbledore is still looking for a way to fight them, but…" He sighed. "Do you understand why I didn't tell you? It's hard not to lose hope and I didn't want you to doubt… I didn't want to burden you."

Hermione's eyes were filled with tears, "But… Why hasn't anybody heard of those spells?"

"Apparently, they're not exactly widely known, not even among those who practice the Dark Arts. Voldemort said that only those who truly studied the Dark Arts heard about them. Their origin is benign, though. They were meant to heal and were created by Morgana."

As he'd hoped, the knowledge he offered soothed Hermione for it kept her mind from drifting too much towards what was about to come. Naturally, that didn't work with Ron.

"Has You-Know-Who already used them?" he asked. His face displayed concern for his family.

"Not officially, but he used one of them on Bellatrix Lestrange as punishment. He broke her in the process," he had no problems saying that without too much compassion. She'd killed her godfather after all. He did pity her, though.

"When do you think?"

"Soon. That's why I'm on edge. The giants are either dead or follow him, the vampires are interested in an alliance, the Dementors view Voldemort as some sort of leader. He seems almost calmer when he stands besides one of them…" he said as an afterthought. He wondered what that meant.

"So, you'll be staying at the Infirmary," Ron concluded.

"Yeah. And I hoped you'd help me find an excuse. The others must not know! I'm risking enough by telling you," Harry said.

"Are you suggesting we might rat y…" Ron started angrily, but Harry interrupted before he was able to finish his question.

"No! But Voldemort is able to read minds with surprising ease. It wouldn't astonish me if there were spies capable of doing the same."

"You could teach us Occlumency," Hermione suggested, her cheeks glowing in eagerness to learn something. Harry smiled at her enthusiasm.

It wasn't a bad idea, actually… The all of them would be glad to do _something_.

And like this, they started to come up with different ideas of how they could protect their minds.

"Since both of you mainly respond to pictures, I think your shields should have visual aspects. Additionally, you could try the 'rid yourself of all emotion part,' just because it doesn't work for me, doesn't mean it shouldn't work in your case either…"

It was almost curfew when they finally decided to stop for today. Harry never probed them, he wanted to have some official Legilimency lessons before daring to enter or probe anyone's mind, but he'd talk to Dumbledore if there was a possibility for them to test their Occulmency.

Harry hadn't expected them to understand the principles of Occlumency in a single hour. He had been actively practising it for half a year and he yet wasn't quite sure what he was doing. He'd had lessons with Snape first, later it had been panic and exhaustion causing him to look for a fast and permanent solution. It was interesting watching his friends go through a similar but not identical process.

Only they weren't faced with as much pressure. In case of his friends, this fact was an advantage rather than inconvenience… They weren't quite as efficient as he was under pressure.

Pressure or not, they were both struggling.

Hermione was one of the most intelligent people Harry knew and, while having no difficulties at all to learn new spells and potions, she had to admit very soon that Occlumency was a completely different branch of magic.

There was no rationality behind mind magic, as contradictory as that was. However, raw emotion wasn't supposed to be present either. Hermione was a very sensitive person, and she was a person not be crossed when feeling angry, but anger made the mind incredibly vulnerable. Harry had learned that when entering Snape's mind last year. Therefore, Hermione was unable to use anger as a shield.

Anger could boil beneath the surface like a protective wall of fire, but before its intensity reached a point it could actually protect, anger tended to lash out and disappear, leaving the mind wide open.

Rationality and a level mind would have to be the base of Hermione's Occlumency shields.

Ron's approach was different but already promising after a mere hour. He had decided to protect his mind with a chess game. He pictured a chessboard and intended to involve a potential intruder into a game.

The idea was brilliant. There was just one small problem.

"You do know _he_ is able to _recognize _strategies?" Harry said. In the course of this hour he'd told them more about what he knew of Voldemort than he had in the past six months. The good thing about discussing it with others was that it allowed him to deter what to bring up in DA lessons and what not. "You're good at chess, Ron. Merlin, you beat Professor McGonagall's chessboard when we were _eleven_. However, I hate to break it to you, but _he_'s able to see the order in _everything_. I'm not sure how he does it, but he can look at scattered puzzle pieces and is able to put it together in his mind within seconds. So, we cannot use common strategies, we have to do something illogical in order to confuse him. Any ideas? What would be the strangest thing happening in chess?"

"When you're playing to lose," Ron said, looking outraged and confused.

"Brilliant, Ron," Harry exclaimed, "Do that. Create a chess game that is designed for you to lose. Voldemort will expect that you want to win and that he has to win in order to enter your mind. He won't understand that he has to _lose_ to gain access. It's not rational. This is ingenious."

Ron, a bit desensitized after having heard Voldemort's name a hundred times within the past few hours, only flinched slightly. "So I'm supposed to create a never-ending loop of different strategies that are designed for me to lose and use that mental image to protect my mind… The key to enter my mind would be me winning an actual game. You know, Harry, that's actually loony enough to work. I'll work on it. How many strategies do you think I'll have to create?"

"Depending on how long it'll take him to see through your strategies… I'd say you should just start. We'll see. I hope Professor Dumbledore will be able to test you."

Hermione had it much harder than Ron. Her skills and her way of thinking were, if one disregarded all of her moralities and her good heart, rather similar to Tom Riddle's. Voldemort would see through her shields in a second, should he ever try to enter her mind.

When he voiced his thoughts (a bit less cruelly), all he received was a sigh.

"I know," she said. "It's frustrating. First Defence, now Occlumency, I just can't do things right, can I?"

Harry whirled around, completely aghast. Sure, she'd been struggling with the new principles and ideas Professor Aikokyushin had introduced them to, but he hadn't known that this failure was getting to her so profoundly. Ron seemed to know, though.

"Hermione, don't be silly," Ron chastised softly. He abandoned the chessboard he'd asked Harry to conjure thanks to the Room of Requirement and walked over to his girlfriend. Tenderly, he took her in his arms. "You are amazing! You are brighter than the majority of adults we come across. You found out what Slytherin's monster was, for Merlin's sake, at the age of twelve! And you solved Snape's puzzle when you were eleven. I bet the git was utterly mortified in the prospect of that."

Before that last sentence, Harry had cheered for his friend, but when the insult was spoken, he felt a sudden rush of irritation. Harry felt protective of the wizard who had saved his life and sanity with his actions.

Unfortunately, he had to remain silent.

"That's silly," Hermione suddenly exclaimed, "Harry's feeling guilty for something that is _not_ his fault, he suffers from nightmares that show nothing but the cruel reality we live in these days and I'm here complaining about not being capable of doing something right at my first try!"

Her words weren't meant for anyone in particular, it seemed as if she was reprimanding herself. Then, she looked at Harry, "I'm so sorry, Harry. I am so selfish! Listen to me, Sirius' death is not your fault, I mean… You're scolding yourself for letting yourself be deceived by a man… wizard… creature that is a master at manipulation, drawing dozens if not hundreds of people on his side. You're sixteen years old. If you take into consideration that You-Kn… Voldemort focuses his entire energy on you at times, it's a miracle that it is only a single vision he managed to plant into your mind. Most people would've fallen for his lies and deceptions a lot quicker. You said to Zacharias that he never tried to seduce you, but we both know that's not true."

"He killed my parents, Hermione," Harry stated softly. So many people he respected, admired, whom he held in high esteem told him that Sirius hadn't died because of him. For the first time in six months, he was ready to believe it. His heart felt considerably less heavy. "He knew it was futile trying to get me on his side."

"That doesn't mean he never tried," she reminded him.

"_'Give me the stone or I'll kill you.'_ Wonderful way of getting someone on their side, Hermione," Harry shuddered. Years had passed, but that night when he was fighting Voldemort for the Philosopher's Stone still horrified him.

So many things could have gone wrong that night. The murderer of his parents could've walked four years earlier than he did ultimately.

"You didn't take the bargain," she replied.

"Again I repeat: Voldemort murdered my parents. There is nothing he could've possibly said to make me do what he wants me to."

"You have no idea how much courage is necessary to do what you did, Harry," Hermione retorted.

The sixteen-year-old couldn't help but laugh bitterly in return, "No, I definitely had no idea. What I did wasn't courageous; courage means that you know what you're getting yourself into. I didn't."

"Would you act differently?" Ron chimed in, but the question was rhetorical.

They already knew the answer.

When they left the Room of Requirement only few minutes later, Harry felt as if a great burden had been lifted off his shoulders. For the first time in a very long while, he felt as if he could breathe again.

Professor Snape and Dumbledore had been right. Sometimes it was good to share your worries with someone you could count on.

Hermione came up with a cover-up story for his presence at the hospital wing faster than Harry could think of one (_'Oh, Harry… Before I forget, Madame Pomfrey has asked for your presence in the Infirmary. You know… the _study.').

Her words had been very vague at best, allowing his contemporaries to make of it whatever they wanted. A couple of hours later, they heard some rumour that Harry was in a study for '_Survivors of the Killing Curse – A Study of the Inexplicable_._'_

For once, Harry was amused what the Hogwarts grapevine could come up with, especially since it was rumours swirling around in the Gryffindor Common Room where most of his friends came from. They made sure none of the nastier rumours were ever heard outside of the tower.

Meanwhile, Harry settled down in a bed, _his _bed, in the Infirmary. Madame Pomfrey had moved it into a corner that shielded him from prying eyes, and which was conveniently right next to her office.

She'd acted as if she wasn't aware of that fact.

* * *

"What makes a spell a spell? If it's not the incantation itself," Harry asked, "Why do we always use the same word if it is insignificant?"

"Are you interested in philosophy, Mr Potter, because your question is philosophical and will lead to a discussion that is somewhat pointless," the Potions Master retorted with a twinge of amusement in his tone.

They were sitting in his office after a successful Occlumency lesson, which had begun with Snape being incapable of entering Harry's mind.

Harry had spent Sunday and Monday night in the hospital wing, though without sleeping draft and without the surveillance of either Snape or Dumbledore. He'd therefore slept as little as he had before, much to Madame Pomfrey's dismay, who'd noticed the empty bed three hours after Harry had left it.

Tonight, Dumbledore would be watching over Harry's potion-induced sleep for it was important that Harry could rest regularly.

Main goal of the Occlumency lessons was to avoid Harry's 'drifting of the mind' altogether.

The Boy Who Lived wasn't too happy about it, especially since it was only a matter of time until the Unspeakables would be used for the first time. Harry dreaded that upcoming event, but he thought it less scary to be mentally prepared for it. As horrible as it would be to witness it, he'd at least be there from the beginning.

It had taken the Potions Master more than half an hour of this Occlumency lesson to convince Harry that this was best for him. The sixteen-year-old had learned in the meantime that Severus Snape was one of the most eloquent people he knew. It was almost impossible to diffuse his point of view. At some point, he'd decided to give it a try.

They hadn't gotten far when it came to actual exercises, but at least, they'd found out that Harry hardly ever witnessed Voldemort when said wizard was on his own.

Which was rather odd.

Thinking back, whenever Harry had seen Voldemort for the past six months, he'd seen him with either victims or Death Eaters, or both.

They were both at loss what it meant, but it had to be significant since Harry's mind drifted whenever Voldemort summoned his Death Eaters at night.

Rather than wondering what this could be about, the Potions Master and Harry decided that it was more important to find a solution. They didn't have one yet, but it was Harry's task to find out how to keep his mind from wandering.

'_Your shields… Hogwarts, it protects your mind, but it doesn't close it,'_ Snape had said, '_You once told me of the layered nature of your shields. It's time to create yet another layer, one that keeps your mind with you when you sleep. I'm not pretending to understand how exactly the mind of an Empath works, but I want you to think about it and we will find a solution together.'_

Harry also told him of his Occlumency training with Hermione and Ron. Snape had complimented them all on thinking ahead. He'd sounded very intrigued concerning Ron's idea on protecting his mind.

_'I would very much like to test his shields, but it was wise of you not to mention my loyalties.'_

Currently, they weren't talking about Occlumency, Legilimency, or Voldemort anymore. Their topic was Magical Theory and Harry inwardly cursed Adalbert Wafflling for having written such a dull book on a very interesting subject. Thankfully, the Potions Master was excellently informed.

"What I'm trying to say is that I don't understand. The day before yesterday you introduced me to a spell you created yourself. I've found spells in books and was able to make them work without knowing what they could do," at Snape's stern glare, he recoiled, "I know, I know. It's not wise to do so, fact remains that on one hand, we can nonverbally make a spell work, on the other we can do something by saying some magic words we don't know the true meaning of. How is that possible?"

"You are speaking of two different matters entirely. Surely you've noticed by now what it means to nonverbally use a spell. It demands your focus, you need a very thorough idea of what you want, a picture, a scent," with a short gesture he pointed to Harry, "A feeling, a sound. A taste even. Some Potions Masters I know solely respond to smell and taste of a spell. One of them once told me that she avoided using the Summoning charm for it tasted bitter in her mouth whenever she'd cast it in the past."

As always, Harry was intrigued. Professor Snape wasn't old, but he already knew so much. It was as if he'd spent his entire life studying.

"The other matter you speak of is more complicated to explain. Some scientists believe that magic is a simple matter of focus. The words for a charm are not magical for themselves, but they work when spoken by a wizard or witch, even if the caster doesn't know their exact meaning, as long as they are able to focus enough. Or hold enough power."

"But you don't believe that, sir," Harry stated. It wasn't a question.

"I do not believe it to be so simple, Harry." The Boy Who Lived started a bit, this was the first time Snape had spoken his first name without saying something of all too great importance. They were having a normal conversation and the potions professor usually said 'Mr Potter' when they were talking like this. Harry preferred it when Snape called him by his first name. It lost a lot of its edge. "The ability to perform or, to take this a step further, to work magic in whatever shape or form, is dependent on the individual. Since individuals are made of both, genetics and experience, no spell works exactly the same for another person. The greatest challenge when creating a spell on your own is to find a _magical word,_ as you called it, that is usable for everybody."

"Given they hold enough power for whatever the spell is supposed to do."

"_Exactly_," the potions professor said. For a moment, his face looked youthful, his voice sounded animated, as if he was delighted with Harry's response. A second later, Snape cleared his throat, and continued, "We've already spoken of the importance of intent when it comes to curses. Every spell has a purpose. There are no exceptions; a spell without purpose is a mere word."

"Then how was I able to use _Reducto_ though I said _'Feritis'?"_

_"_The wizard's focus overrides the spell's purpose," Snape clarified.

"Professor Aikokyushin told us that the spells he learned at school are originated in Japanese, while the roots of ours are in Latin. It doesn't really matter, though, does it? He said so." Harry briefly wondered why the Potions Master stiffened when the Defence teacher's name was mentioned. It seemed as if Snape truly wanted that Defence Against the Dark Arts job.

After a moment of silence, Snape spoke again, "He isn't wrong. It helps to learn new spells with the principles of your teachings, though. You will have seen by now that Japanese magic varies from what is taught here. While a good part of Europe and North America mainly depends on the wording of the spell itself as well as wand movement, Eastern cultures have developed very complicated movements of the entire body to make their magic work. We can learn those movements the same way Professor Aikokyushin was able to become proficient with our way of performing magic, but this matter is comparable to native languages, the first thing we learn is the one we'll never forget."

"So, in Germany or France, their way of performing magic is the same that is taught to us? Durmstrang and Beauxbatons both used spells originated in Latin and they used the same wand movements."

"Precisely. Mediterranean countries such as Italy, Spain, the Southern part of France, Algeria, Marocco…" his voice trailed of, "I will not bore you with geographic information. Having attended to Muggle school, you will be better educated in that area than the average child from a Wizarding family. Mediterranean countries have some spells originated in Latin, especially in Spain, Italy and the Southern part of France, but as far as I am informed, their wand movements are different from what we are taught here. South American wizards and witches are strongly influenced by shaman magic, but we do not have to go so far… Irish magic has an almost endless source of Celtic … It is very interesting, but I do not know enough to go into detail."

"Thanks anyway, sir. You're giving me a good picture of the endless variety of influences every society has experienced. It isn't a rigid system, it flows, changes all the time," then he suddenly frowned, "What was my original question, sir?"

"'What makes a spell a spell?' I think." Lips twitched with amusement, but he didn't smile.

"Oh, yes. Well, that's a good question, isn't it?" Harry smiled.

"Indeed."

For a moment they sat in companionable silence.

"Curfew is in less than twenty minutes," the Order's spy said all of a sudden, "It takes some time to reach the Gryffindor tower… I suggest we end this lesson for today. You have done well."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, taking the compliment as the rare gift it was. "And thank you for… Well, everything you've been doing lately. I appreciate it."

Severe, black eyes looked into emerald with a carefully blank expression. "You are welcome, Harry."

* * *

_A/N: _I am so sorry for not updating sooner. That's the first thing I have to say. I'm truly sorry. I was suffering from a rather frustrating case of writer's block when it came to this story, could only right one sentence at a time, which annoyed the hell out of me. About two weeks ago, I was able to write properly again... I very much hope that there is still a reader or two who's interested in this story.

Special thanks for MissGoalie, who was kind enough to correct this chapter.

Also, I want to thank for the generous amount of reviews that I received for the last chapter. I read them all with pleasure.

_Next Chapter_: Christmas Lament _(A/N: Calm before the storm is over. I think the all of you will know what that means.)_

* * *

_Special A/N: _The name Viatus Shivalewski...

This author note is dedicated to the reviewer "Silver" whom I thank for the correction. I wish I could have contacted you through PM, so we could find a better solution than what I'm presenting here. I'm aware it is not perfect.

I think it is important for everyone to note the following, because I can't stand it when someone butchers my first language. Therefore, I officially apologize for the mistake.

Silver wrote, "So, the name "Viatus Shivalewski". You're suggesting he's Polish, or of Polish ancestry, and his last name is... slightly Polish, I admit. And I like the whole "Let's call him Shiva" bit, very nice, but... the Polish language doesn't have a letter "v". Instead, the "w" is pronounced as "v". So the -ewski ending, one of the more common last-name-endings in Polish, is pronounced "evski". So in order to have the name "Viatus" his name would have to be spelled "Wiatus"... and his last name "Siwalewski". The other thing about Polish is that there are three different ways to spell the "sh" sound. There's sz, si, and an s with an accent which my computer refuses to cooperate with me and use here."

_Viatus _is a name I adjusted from the Latin word "viator" (traveler)... So, the name is not of Polish origin, and that was done on purpose.

However, for the last name, I don't have an excuse... I honestly didn't know that 'v' does not exist in the Polish language.

But I've noticed that some names are adjusted when the people come to another country... So, there are two ways of writing it: the original, correct way and the adjustment.

Okay, it's a country, but in English people don't write "Schweiz/Suisse/Svizzera" - as it would be the official way of writing it, but they write "Switzerland"... Let's just assume that the same thing was done with Viatus Shivalewski. A mistake was made, okay, made by me, I admit, but I could imagine some person behind a desk writing down the wrong name and Voldemort doesn't care enough to correct it. He doesn't speak Polish, or at least, it's lousy. He pretends to speak German rather than Polish because of it.

So, summary: In his passport/official papers that the Ministry requires, we have the original name: Wiatus Śiwalewski, but in Great Britain and the Ministry of Magic, Wiatus Śiwalewski is signed up as "Viatus Shivalewski"

Dear Silver, I hope this is acceptable for you. Thanks again for telling me this. I did my best, I assure you.


	28. Christmas Lament, Part One

**Chapter 15, Part One: Christmas Lament**

"That's it! Excellent teamwork. Tonks, Shiva, you two are the best trainees I've had in my thirty years of trying to teach some newbies how to survive," Chief Howard Walters praised them.

Admittedly, he'd heard of Britain's Magical Law Enforcement Squad being one of best in the world. He'd met dozens of outstanding Hit Wizards these past fifty years as an Auror. However, Tonks and Shiva were newbies. Although already having completed their basic education, both with a specialty, they were new to the field and even newer to the Enforcement Squad.

Walters had come from New York to London a little less than four months ago. He'd been asked to come here by Britain's minister Laurence Skawn himself because Walters had the reputation of being the best instructor since the famous (not few of those who'd been trained by him would say infamous) Charles Brighton had retired twenty years back.

It was his job to keep those foolish, young and eager Aurors alive long enough to actually be of use.

He loved his job.

What he hated was the increasing amount of funerals he had to attend to.

Four months and twenty funerals.

Lord Voldemort – or Tom Marvolo Riddle as the classified files he had access to revealed – certainly knew what he was doing. He was impossible to track, his secret followers were hard to determine and those who were siding with him out in the open were as hard to find as their master. Walters had read the old files, what had happened the last time when Riddle had risen.

These days, it was different: he still spread terror with horrifying actions, covert ops, kidnappings and assassinations. However, something was different this time.

Last summer, when his return had been acknowledged officially, he'd been seen inside of the Ministry of Magic looking for a prophecy. His actual return a year ago had been witnessed by Harry Potter.

Chief Walters would bet all the gold he owned on the fact that the Boy Who Lived wasn't supposed to survive that night.

Harry Potter played an important role in this war and he wasn't even of age yet.

It was crazy.

Howard had never been much for hero-worship and he was therefore not overly impressed with the fall of Voldemort fifteen years ago. He didn't exactly know what happened, but it was foolish to think that a one-year-old was solely responsible for the defeat of a powerful wizard like Riddle.

Because of this, Howard couldn't view a Hogwarts student as the saviour of the world. The world could only be saved if everyone stood up against the rising powers. Unfortunately, there were too many cowards and too few who actually tried and that allowed Riddle to kill those who opposed him.

One by one.

It was a disaster.

For that reason, the chief was glad watching his favourite Auror newbies working together.

Tonks was a force to reckon with. Her Metamorphmagus abilities were rare and she was an effective duellist. She had a wonderful sense of humour and always managed to lift the troop's mood when it looked particularly dire. Her weakness was stealth, though. He'd hardly met an Auror displaying more clumsiness than her. Hell, without even trying, old Alastor with his wooden leg was quieter than she was!

When Mad-Eye had decided to retire, Howard had felt old for the first time in his long life. He'd worked together with the talented and slightly more experienced British Auror in a rather dangerous and classified mission not long after having finished his education. Their teamwork had been outstanding.

A lot like Shiva and Tonks, really.

Shiva.

He'd met many young male newbies over the years. They were usually passionate, stubborn and hot-headed, especially after having been forced to sit behind a desk for several months.

Not Shivalewski, though.

The Polish Auror was calm, collected and sharp-minded, displaying the dignity of an old man. He was highly capable yet modest.

Usually, Howard had little patience for types like Shiva. He'd been short-tempered in his youth, still was at times, and he knew a lot better how to deal with that character trait than this unnerving calmness.

However, his determination and the way he was ready to get his hands dirty made up for his reserved behaviour.

"Thanks, Chief." Tonks smiled brilliantly, before looking up into her partner's eyes who'd nodded slightly at the praise. "That last spell… What was that? I've never seen it before."

A very good question, Chief Walters decided. It had looked like the variation of the Disarming Charm, but unlike the classic charm, the wand hadn't flown away. It, quite literally, blew into the wizard's face before flying away in the opposite direction of the caster. Kyle, another newbie, had been knocked unconscious by the wand since Shiva's Disarming Spell seemed to have somehow charged the wand with energy.

"I invented it. I was once confronted with an… en… opponent who was proficient with _Expelliarmus_ in a way it took me aback. I created this spell to _neutralisieren_… neutralize the effect of the Disarming Spell," he explained. Shiva's English had improved over the past few weeks, but every once in a while he struggled with the proper vocabulary.

"Impressive. Does it work?" the Metamorphmagus asked.

"I do need to refine the wording to make the spell useful for everyone besides myself, but yes, it does work well."

"Definitely." Kyle moaned while getting up with the help of his partner.

Shiva was silent for a moment before saying, "I did not mean to harm you."

The poor guy was so reserved his apologies always sounded awkward, as if he never said that he was sorry at all.

"'S okay, lad," Kyle said, roughly patting the taller wizard's shoulder. As a result, Shiva looked even less comfortable.

"Who'd ever use _Expelliarmus_ in combat?" Charles chimed in.

"Harry Potter does, according to the records," Kyle began, his gaze was fixed on Tonks, "but you'd know more about that."

"I don't really…"

"Don't give me that," Kyle interrupted. "Saw the two of you, remember? You and I were part of the small squadron of Aurors who made sure he arrived safely at Hogwarts. His main focus was on you and Kingsley, the rest of us were only… inspected."

"He's been having some bad experiences with Polyjuice and mind games. It would have worried me if he hadn't been careful," Tonks defended the Boy Who Lived immediately.

How come he hadn't known that one of his newbies knew Harry Potter?

Shiva didn't seem surprised, therefore he'd known.

"You know Harry Potter?"

Despite the fact he wasn't much for hero-worship, one couldn't help but be curious about that teenager everybody was talking about.

"I've met and talked to him a couple of times… _Knowing _him would be a gross exaggeration. First time I saw him, he was fifteen and very… a typical teenager. But then I saw him fight last summer at the Ministry and he's really good. Not exceptional, though. He could give us a hard time, that's for sure, but if you think of him as a wizard with the magical talent of Professor Dumbledore, I have to disappoint you."

"I've read he's been fighting off You-Kn… the Dark Lord several times. He must be better than that."

_You-Know-Who _and_ He Who Must Not Be Named_ were idioms nobody in the Auror office liked to use since they suggested cowardice, but only a handful knew his real name and _Voldemort_ was only used by some. Therefore, _Dark Lord_ was the phrase of choice in the Auror office.

"The Dark Lord was weakened each time," Shiva spoke up, his ever-serious tone even, almost cold. "It would be foolish to think that Harry Potter was a match for him now that he has risen again."

"Well, he escaped him twice ever since," Kyle came to the defence.

"That may be, but when it comes to sheer power, the Dark Lord surpasses Harry Potter's strength by length."

Charles took a step forward and Walters decided to interrupt, "Boys, please! Kyle, Charles, you must look at this from Shiva's point of view: he hasn't witnessed the first war the same way you did. Harry Potter might be the _Boy Who Lived_, but that's all he is: a boy. It's the same for me as well."

Stunned, Kyle and Charles grew silent.

"He's a special kid," Tonks decided to speak again, "very kind. Openhearted for a boy who has lost so much. He lost his Mum, his Dad and as if that wasn't bad enough, he lost his godfather not too long ago. You know what it's like, Shiva. Didn't you say that you had no family back home?"

Howard knew Shiva for quite some time now, but this was the first time he seemed taken aback. Tonks noticed and her eyes widened. "That sounded terrible. I'm sorry, Viatus. I didn't mean to…"

The tall wizard's long fingers were laid tentatively on his partner's left shoulder. "My… Family died a long time ago, Dora. Do not bother too much with what has long passed."

"All right, boys! And Tonks. I think it's time to call it a day. Kyle, Charles, you're on call tonight. If we find Voldemort's lair, your presence will be requested. However, stay back! I want to capture the bastard and I've no wish to attend to yet another funeral. Got it?"

"Sure, Chief. Goodnight." A moment after having spoken those words, Kyle and Charles disapparated.

"How close are you to finding him?" Tonks asked the experienced Auror.

"Not close enough." The only way of being _close enough_ was when they found it and didn't follow rumours.

He decided to change the subject, "Any plans for Christmas?"

It was rather unlike him to pleasantly chat with his newbies. Those two were special, though.

"Hogwarts. I'm going to Hogwarts with some of my friends. You, sir?"

Instead of answering, he commented, "Hogwarts, hm? Don't know how long I'll be here, but before going home I'd like to take a peak at that legendary castle. Have you ever seen it, Shiva?"

A sentiment, Chief Walters was unable to recognize, flickered over the younger wizard's face before it wore the familiar severe expression again. "No. I don't think the school is open for strangers in times like these."

"Oh, I am certain Professor Dumbledore would welcome you to Hogwarts, the both of you. I mean, do any of you have any plans for Christmas? I'm sure you'll be allowed to spend the holidays with us."

Nymphadora Tonks was a very kind girl. She was a family person and couldn't bear the thought that her colleagues would be spending Christmas alone. And that they would, without the invite.

Shiva stiffened. "I will never step a foot into this castle as long as Albus Dumbledore is the school's headmaster."

Now that was a surprise. Howard and Tonks both looked at the tall man whose eyes seemed cold and unyielding. Walters had never seen him look like this.

"Why?" The young and only female trainee to become Hit Witch (he was too old to think of all the impropriate phrases concerning this particular title) sounded disappointed.

"Fifty years ago, the one who is called Dark Lord these days didn't exist yet," he began with practised calm. "But there was a dark wizard and he was responsible for the deaths of millions of people on his quest for _the Greater Good_, apart from his own murders by empowering a megalomaniac of a Muggle whose intention were no less evil than his own. Gellert Grindelwald was hardly of consequence here in England or in the United States, but his deeds still cause terror in the heart of my country's citizens. So I beg your pardon when the idea of meeting Albus Dumbledore doesn't exactly thrill me."

"But, Professor Dumbledore defeated Gellert Grindelwald." Tonks looked both defiant and unsure of Shiva's statement.

Walters however knew what the Polish Auror was trying to say. It was very likely that he knew more about it than Shiva did.

"That he did. But years and years too late. All he had to do was _show up_... Imagine my family, Dora… Some of my relatives tried to fight back Grindelwald's forces for _years_. Albus Dumbledore defeated him in a matter of _days_. When he'd defeated him, he wouldn't even allow us to take revenge on the creature that was terrorizing our homes. He insisted on having him _imprisoned_ in Nurmengard where Grindelwald still rots. Albus Dumbledore may have defeated Grindelwald, Dora, but in return he forced us to bend to his will. He wouldn't listen to any objection and no one dared to stand in his way… I've no wish to ever meet that man and I do hope you understand my reasons."

Tonks nodded sadly, avoiding the taller wizard's intense, sky-blue eyes, "I… He… He's a good person, Shiva. Whatever happened back then, he's a very kind man and he would welcome you with open arms. Trust me on this."

For a long moment, the young Auror didn't speak before he finally said, "I will think about it."

"Thanks. It would be great if you could come, I mean… Like this I can introduce you to my friends. Apart from the Weasleys whom you already know."

"You are being very kind," Shiva said, the hint of a smile adorned the young face.

"Don't mention it," she grinned happily. "Same with you, sir. Interested?"

"Let's see what happens on the Voldemort front… Then, let's plan our holidays."

* * *

'_Shouldn't have thought that. Shouldn't have thought that. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.'_

Adrenalin rushed through the experienced Auror's body. Outwardly, he was calm, but inwardly he felt as nervous as he'd hardly ever felt before.

They'd found it. Riddle's lair.

Only two hours after they'd said goodbye to each other, Dawlish appeared to say that they had a lead.

They were fifteen Aurors, seven of which were full members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. Two Squad trainees: Charles and Kyle. Five fully trained and more or less experienced Aurors of the other squads.

And him. Though he was an instructor these days, he was first and foremost still an active Auror. He was used to combat. The most experienced fighter of the bunch, actually. But this night made his skin crawl.

Something wasn't right.

He saw two Death Eaters about twenty feet ahead of them and gave the signal for caution. The entire place was strategically occupied by Aurors.

Kyle and Charles were right behind him.

It was their goal to keep the Death Eaters from noticing them without actually having to take them out.

They had one target tonight: Tom Marvolo Riddle.

He made a sign for Dawlish and Martin to move towards the hill. It would give them a better position.

Problem was, they didn't respond.

'_Shit!_' he cursed without making a sound since that wasn't wise in this kind of situation, '_Shit! Holy shit! F…'_

He turned around to see whether Kyle and Charles were still safe and sound. Walters' eyes widened in horror when he saw that they were lying there motionless, only ten feet behind him.

What the hell was going on?

As if he'd asked for it, a scream as if from a wounded animal cut through the silence of the night, soon joined by several others. He didn't recognize the voices for they were filled with too much pain, but he knew where they had come from.

Trap.

Only what kind, he couldn't tell. He hadn't heard anyone speaking the Cruciatus curse and not even Voldemort was able to torture so many people at once.

It didn't matter.

"FALL BACK! FALL BACK!" he yelled into the night and got up, his wand in his hand. He focused in order to disapparate, but it was useless.

A strong ward kept him from leaving.

A silent, high and cold chuckle was carried to his ears. He didn't have to turn back to know what was waiting behind him.

He turned around to look into a face that only marginally resembled a human being.

"Good evening, Howard. Do you know what those are?"

Briefly, Walters wondered just how on earth Voldemort knew his name. He wanted to take out his wand and fight. He wanted to… But for the first time in sixty years, Chief Howard Walters was petrified. Terrified of whatever creature Tom Marvolo Riddle had become.

So, instead of hurling insults, instead of fighting, he simply followed the creature's gaze.

What he saw nearly made him vomit.

There was Dawlish, a pool of blood next to his body and as if all bodily fluid had been extracted from the body; he looked like a mummy.

There was Martin, his limbs strangely angled as if every bone was broken. His eyes were opened wide in horror and pain.

"What…?"

"Ever heard of the _Indicendi_, Howard?" Voldemort's cold voice asked calmly.

'_Oh… Fucking hell!'_

It was like a wake-up call. Howard could suddenly move again. He raised his wand and silently spoke, "_Feritis!"_

Voldemort parted it casually with a flick of his wand.

'_When it's you or them,'_ his instructor had told him countless times, '_make sure it's them.'_

"_Avada Ke…"_

Before he could finish the incantation, his wand turned on him and he was knocked down, while his trusty weapon was casually caught by his enemy.

He recognized that spell.

"What have you done to him?" he asked with barely suppressed anger. The thought of having lost not only two but three of his kids in one night (_or four. By Merlin! How did Tonks and Shiva get into this?)_ was so painful, it even buried his own fear.

Again, a cold hollow laughter was emitted by the monster. "Think again, Howard. I thought you were smarter than that. Than Piotr. Than the rest of them."

It was impossible. Absolutely impossible. And yet…

"You?" the experienced Auror asked in disbelief, "You? How?"

Another quiet, cold chuckle.

"_Well done, my Death Eaters,_" he spoke. He had to have used some spell for his voice, not loud but strangely intense, was heard over the hills far into the graveyard, "_I now wish to be alone."_

That was an almost polite way of saying, 'Get lost!'

Who'd have thought that monsters could be courteous?

When they were alone, at least that was what Howard thought, Riddle… _Shiva_ talked again, "Humans can be very blind. They see blue instead of red, see polite reserve instead of actual disinterest and suddenly, you are a valued member of society. Even you, an experienced Auror, about my age and you did not see immediately. Manipulation. It is so easy. People see what they want to see and you tell them what they want to hear and they open their minds and souls for you…" A cruel, lipless smile made this face an even more horrifying mask.

"Why don't you just get over with it, then? You played me. Congratulations. I can't leave, you can't afford to have me walk around, knowing your _secret_. And a secret it is, right? Not even your precious little slaves know."

"Oh, you won't last the night," Voldemort spoke casually. As if trying to underline his words, he pointed his wand at Walter's and it turned into dust right in front its carrier. "But there is no need to rush. Let's talk, the way we did only a few hours ago. It was remarkably refreshing, I must say."

"_Fuck you_." He watched the dust touching the ground and for a moment, he felt like having lost a friend. Yet another one.

Again, this mirthless laughter. This time, Howard was unable to stop his body from shivering.

"It is a magnificent sight," Voldemort said calmly and started to walk.

Knowing that running would be pointless and an act of cowardice, he walked beside the enemy he'd left his home for and whom he'd met as a friend. As one of his kids.

When had the world stopped making sense?

"Hogwarts, I mean," the monster stated casually when he noted the Auror's silence. "You said earlier that you wanted to see it."

"Well, I guess that wish is futile now, is it?" He wouldn't cry in front of that monster. He wouldn't beg to see his family just one more time.

At that, he felt… He didn't know exactly, but it hurt, his skull seemed to crack open from the pain he felt, but it was over before he had time to scream.

Hogwarts.

The beautiful lands.

The lake.

The entrance.

A hall that seemed to open up into the sky.

Reverence that wasn't his own filled his heart.

"The first sight is always the greatest, Howard. I gave you mine."

"Why, Shi… Why do you care?"

He hated that laughter.

"I don't, but you taught me some things I didn't know before and that is rare. They will not be able to say that Lord Voldemort doesn't thank those who've been of use."

"Do you expect me to say 'you're welcome'?" Howard hissed. Then, a thought so sickening it took away his breath came to mind, "What about Tonks?"

"Ah, Dora." Who'd have thought that a smile could scare him so much? "She is so uniquely talented. Her powers are a waste for the Light. She's like a flower in the night, not yet blossomed to her entire beauty."

"If you touch her, you bastard, I will…" _'…Kill you with my bare hands. Sure, Howard, why not? That is so likely going to happen.'_

This time, the laughter was even higher than before. "Oh, Howard… Do you really think I have this lowly desire the common man seems to crave? I am so much more than a man and I do not wish to possess her like this. No, she is a lot more interesting unbroken. I want her unleashed, Howard, having her live up to her full potential."

"You'll destroy her." Howard felt his eyes burn and he hated himself for it.

"Now that would be a pity." Red eyes looked at him without mercy, without showing as much as a tad of compassion.

"What about Viatus Shivalewski?"

"Dead. In every sense that matters."

"No Polyjuice." He knew this because they were forced to go through several scans before they were allowed to enter the Auror's office, "How exactly…?"

What the hell was wrong with him? Why didn't he just… Oh right, he didn't have his wand.

"That is none of your concern." Dismissed like a petulant child.

"Why am I still alive?"

The tall creature next to him didn't speak. He just continued walking casually as if meeting with an old friend.

"Let me guess," it was worth a try, "Tonks and I… We're treating you like an equal, we don't shiver in front of you, don't beg for mercy. And you like it. It's new… _refreshing_, you said. Sometimes you catch yourself wishing to actually be Viatus Shivalewski, that talented, intelligent young man who's training to become the best in his field. You are jealous of him… of that façade you created." He was mocking the most dangerous dark wizard in a century, if not of all times… It took a lot of self-control not to laugh hysterically.

"You will not taunt me into killing you quicker, Howard. Don't endeavour it. You would regret it."

They walked across the graves towards and old, shady house. Once upon a time, it might have looked beautiful. Today it looked as if nobody had taken care of it.

"I'm not going to join you." That one triumph he wouldn't give Riddle.

The lipless mouth's corners turned upwards into an amused smile. "I didn't expect you to."

"Then what do you want?" he hissed, but was taken aback when Riddle started to hiss as well. He recognized those sounds… Parseltongue.

Howard didn't like it any more than he had years ago when he'd heard it for the first time. An enormous snake made its way through the grass… Salem's Mercy, he _hated_ snakes. Again, he had to suppress this strange urge to giggle. As if snakes were his biggest problems.

"I'm not going to give you any information."

"You would, but there is nothing I don't already know," Voldemort said dismissively.

"I know more than Shiva." _'Idiot!'_ he reprimanded himself, '_You wanna get tortured? You're doing one hell of a job so far.'_

"But not more than Ian Lapidan, and his Occlumency skills are abysmal, but you know that."

Ian. Damned clerk. Never completed any field time, but he had risen high in the ranks of Britain's Auror office simply by smooth talking everyone. Two Aurors were occupied the entire day keeping that idiot from getting kidnapped. That was a needless fear as it seemed for he was simply spied on.

By Voldemort himself.

"You wanted us to find you."

"Your observation skill is astounding." Riddle knew sarcasm. Knowledge he could have done without.

"Guess it wouldn't have been too convenient, had Shiva been called to find Volde…" Pain shot through his limbs as the Cruciatus took effect.

"Don't you dare speak this name into my face, _Chief._" The cruel mockery was hardly noticed since Howard was too occupied trying to catch his breath. He couldn't remember having fallen to the ground.

"You are weaker than usual. What is it?" It was no worry, just a strange sort of morbid curiosity.

"I've just lost more than a dozen of my friends and I was betrayed by another. And your face doesn't exactly have a soothing effect either."

He expected of being tortured for that, but he was surprised to hear that cold laughter again.

"If I meant to do that, I'd have kept my old face, Howard." For a moment he was silent, then he said, "I betrayed you?"

"_Shiva_ betrayed me. He was my friend."

"Interesting," the creature whispered thoughtfully, "I've never been in the position to betray or be betrayed. What does it do to you?"

"What the hell do you want from me?"

'_Okay, note to myself: if you want to avoid being tortured to death, don't piss off the single-most evil wizard that has ever lived.'_ His thoughts were random and unfocused. This Cruciatus had been more painful than the last. The bastard was able to play with the curse's intensity.

"You explain things. You always have. Why? How? What? Important questions that occupy me a great deal, have occupied me a lot my entire life, but nobody ever bothered to explain, so I sought the answers. I found them, and more than I ever asked for. However, tell me, what does it feel to be _betrayed_? Not even my closest Death Eaters are capable of touching me."

"Must be pretty lonely, that kind of life." Maybe, he was just getting sentimental in the face of upcoming death. He couldn't explain any other way why he pitied the horrifying creature in front of him.

"Coming from a man who has just been weakened in the face of some strangers' deaths and the betrayal of someone whom he'd known for only a few months," Voldemort whispered, his red eyes were wide and the slits that were his nostrils widened, he looked positively excited in an extremely morbid way.

Proudly, Howard straightened up to his full height (unfortunately, he was still half a foot shorter than the tall wizard) and said defiantly, "I'm an Auror, _Shiva_," he put as much venom into his voice as he could. "I trust my partners with my life. It is our code of honour not to betray each other. It sickens me, looking at you, knowing whom you've pretended to be. The thought that you touched Tonks' shoulder earlier today makes me shiver and I want to vomit. To think that I defended your opinion on Harry Potter embarrasses me. All I want is spit in your face, you bastard!"

Almost like the parody of a curious child, Voldemort… Shiva… Riddle tilted his head.

"Thank you, Howard," Voldemort spoke almost softly, "for explaining. _Avada Kedavra." _

Howard Walters didn't even see how the wizard had lifted his wand.

* * *

About the time when Chief Howard Walters heard the agonized screams, Harry Potter stood upright in his bed in the Hospital Wing, screaming as loud as any of the Aurors did.

Madame Pomfry was immediately by his side. "Harry! What happened?"

The Boy Who Lived's entire body shook, he moaned and cried at the same time.

"It has started." He gasped, "It's begun. He's using them out in the open."

* * *

_A/N_: Thank you so much for the encouraging reviews for the last chapter. And thanks to MissGoalie75 for being my Beta.

There's not much more I have to say but: It has started... And I'm excited to have reached this point of my story.

Thanks for reading, please review!


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